Quintessence
by Darth Marrs
Summary: The Galaxy Far Far Away did not fall easily to the Entities. With their last breath, the survivors of that galaxy planted a seed of hope for any other worlds that might fall. Naturally, with Taylor Hebert's luck, that seed planted itself in her. A Star Wars/Worm Crossover.
1. Snowball

**Quintessence**

A Worm/Star Wars Crossover

The Galaxy Far Far Away did not fall to the Entities quickly or easily. Yet for every Entity killed, a thousand worlds fell. With their galaxy doomed, the last Jedi and Sith planted a seed within one of the last Entities to ensure that what happened to their galaxy would never happen again.

**Arc 1: The Murderer**

**Chapter One: Snowball**

A loud bang brought Danny Hebert awake with a snort and a confused, "Wassat? Taylor? Is that you?"

With bleary eyes, Danny looked around the cluttered, filthy living room for any sign of his daughter. Nothing.

"God, Annette would kill me if she saw this place," he muttered as he slowly started to relax.

His heavy, gummy eyelids just closed again when the banging returned, accompanied by a bass voice yelling through his door.

"DANIEL HEBERT, THIS IS THE PARAHUMAN RESPONSE TEAM. WE HAVE A WARRANT TO SEARCH THIS PREMISES. IF YOU DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR, WE WILL OPEN IT FORCEFULLY."

Danny surged to his feet, only to trip over an empty bottle of Wild Turkey that went rolling loudly across the old wood slats of the floor. With a muttered curse, he stumbled through the living room with only the television and the bare bulb hanging in the stairs to light his way, until he reached the door. He opened it only to stare, dumbfounded, at the black visor of a heavily armed PRT agent and a search warrant shoved into his face.

"PRT. We have a warrant to search this premises. Your cooperation is requested but not necessary. Stand aside, please."

The man's black body armor and helmet obscured all but the faintest hint of his chin, making him look more mechanical than human. The other agents didn't wait for Danny's permission before they poured through his door and into his living room, roughly shoving him aside. He tried to look everywhere at once as the soldiers of the government agency dedicated to controlling parahumans began to methodically tear his home apart. They didn't just look, they were taking pictures as they searched. The empty bottles of whiskey? _Flash_. The pizza boxes and Chinese take-out cartons littering his kitchen table? _Flash._

"What's going on here?" he demanded once he could find a voice.

The agents ignored him. But behind them came someone who did not.

"Mr. Hebert? I'm Miss Militia with the Protectorate."

He turned and found himself staring at a woman dressed like an anachronistic extra to a low-budget western. She wore a bandana tied around her face to hide her nose and mouth, but the bandana bore the colors of the American flag. She had a holster hanging low on her right hip, but instead of leather or denim like an actor in a western, she wore mottled gray and green fatigue T-shirt with a black tactical vest and similar tactical pants lined with pockets. Another American flag sash completed the costume around her waist.

Perhaps not a western—more like a model on the cover of the Guns and Ammo magazines his dad sometimes read in the bathroom when Danny was a kid. She was too athletic to be a supermodel, but was attractive even so. It wasn't her appearance that was most startling, however. A green mist hovered around her right hand, shifting even as he watched from an assault rifle to a pistol to a bowie knife in quick succession.

Even if he didn't recognize her from the news, or the fact she wore a mask like someone out of the comics he used to read, he would know the woman as a parahuman just from the sheer impossibility of the power she displayed. She was a living, breathing superhero, part of the national organization of superheroes sponsored by the federal government, the Protectorate.

"What is this about?" he asked. No, begged. "I saw the news about Winslow, but when I tried to go they wouldn't let me even get close. My friends say they haven't heard anything about their kids either. Why won't you people let me see my daughter? It's been two days!"

"Mr. Hebert, I think we should sit down," Miss Militia said. "There are some things we need to talk about.

At her insistence, Danny half-stumbled back into the kitchen as she flipped on the overhead light. All around the house, agents were turning on the hateful lights. Under the fluorescence, she stared at his eyes a moment before nodding. "Would you mind if I made some coffee?"

Danny collapsed in his chair—it creaked loudly. "What is this about?"

Instead of answering him, she took several scoops out of the coffee tin she found on the stained kitchen counter and started brewing a pot. "Your daughter Taylor is a student at Winslow High School, correct?"

"Yes."

"She's fifteen. Born June 12, 1995?"

"Yes. How'd you…?"

"School records," Miss Militia said. The coffee maker whined a little as it brewed. "A sophomore. You and your wife elected to have her start school a little earlier because of when her birthday fell. It appeared to be a good decision. Until high school she was an exemplary student."

Danny was simply too tired to try and figure out where she was going with this.

"I haven't slept in two days," he muttered. "I haven't seen my only living family in two days. My little girl. And now you're standing there in my kitchen talking about Taylor's school transcripts while your jack-booted thugs tear apart my house? What the fuck is GOING ON?"

His voice rose with each word, until by the end of it he was screaming, and brought both hands down on the table as he rose to his feet. The green mist by her hand suddenly shifted into a very large automatic pistol. She met his gaze without flinching as she holstered the weapon.

"Sit down, Mr. Hebert."

Where before she sounded at least…polite, now she sounded cool and collected. She sounded like someone who knew how to fight and kill. Danny sank back into his table, and only then realized that a pair of the PRT agents searching his home nearby had weapons trained on him.

Miss Militia finished brewing the coffee and then very deliberately poured two cups. "How do you take yours?"

"I don't fucking care."

She shrugged and took both cups to the table. She handed him his before sitting and cradling hers in her hands. She didn't drink, since doing so would require removing her bandana.

"As you know, there was an incident at Winslow High School." She began in that infuriatingly calm tone. "The public story is that an unidentified tinker used an unknown chemical to start a fire. This was the excuse for the quarantine. It was a lie. In fact, there was a psychometric event nearly on the scale of a Simurgh attack. Three students were killed, and every other student and all the staff in the school were incapacitated. The fire began after a telekinetic explosion exposed old wiring, which ignited exposed chemicals in the school paper's darkroom."

Danny stared, trying to understand what she was saying. Simurgh? Of course he knew what the Simurgh was. Like Leviathan and Behemoth, the Simurgh was an Endbringer, a creature of such power and destructive abilities that whole cities simply died when she came—and that was if they were lucky. The Simurgh was known to drive cities insane with her telepathic song.

He just didn't understand what his little girl had to do with the Simurgh, though. The woman's words just didn't sink in. She kept speaking anyway.

"The epicenter of the event was your daughter's locker. Investigators at the scene believe she might have been inside it for some reason. Were you aware of any bullying Taylor may have been subjected to?"

"What? No! I…"

Before Miss Militia could answer, a PRT agent came thumping down their stairs. He carried a leather-bound book in his hands.

"Ma'am." He interrupted Danny. "You'll want to see this."

"What is that?" Danny demanded.

Miss Militia ignored him and opened it up at a random page. Her eyes widened as she read. She quickly began flipping through the diary. After a few more long, heavy seconds of reading she sighed before turning the book around and shoving it toward him. Danny stared for a few moments at his daughter's familiar, crimped handwriting before pulling it the rest of the way.

…_fucking hate them. I hate them. Gladly just stands there and lets them get away with it. Blackwell demands proof, and when I bring it to her she covers it up or throws it away. Sofia elbowed the back of my head into my locker, and Emma just laughed about how clumsy I was. Gladly was right there and saw my bloody nose, and the son of a bitch didn't do a damned thing! I hate them. God, I wish mom were here. I can't tell dad because he'd just shut down again…._

He closed the book with a hard thump. "Please. Please! What is this about?"

"At just before lunch two days ago, your daughter experienced a Trigger Event—a traumatic experience which activated her potential to become a parahuman. In the course of that trigger, she killed three classmates, started a serious fire, and incapacitated every other person in the school. Five more students who were incapacitated by her psychic scream succumbed to smoke inhalation and died. Those that were rescued remained incapacitated for hours. Some were harmed seriously enough to require hospitalization. One of those students killed immediately was the daughter of an acquaintance of yours—Emma Barnes."

"My God. Alan!" Danny sat up. "Does…does Emma's dad know?"

"He does, yes."

Danny's mind tried to process what he was hearing, but it was hard. His mind latched onto the fact that Taylor was alive. His little girl was alive! But she…what, she killed a few of girls who were, if this diary was to be believed, tormenting her? But she was…

"Where's Taylor?"

"She's a PRT headquarters. During her arrest, she displayed significant telekinetic abilities. More than a dozen agents and two members of the Protectorate were seriously wounded before Armsmaster was able to sedate her. She's been placed under Level 10 containment at PRT headquarters."

It was too much. Danny shoved himself back from the table and half stumbled to the window of the kitchen. Behind him, the two hovering PRT agents gripped their carbines, but he didn't care. The backyard was nothing but cold shadow, the cloud cover reflecting light from the city but hiding any sign of the moon.

In his mind, he saw his little girl throwing snowballs at Annette, laughing with delight any time she got a hit, and then running in circles when Annette chased after her until she fell into the snow, squealing with anticipation. She liked getting caught more than she liked being chased. He could almost smell the hot chocolate he'd have waiting for them when they came in.

"Mr. Hebert?"

He blinked, and realized abruptly he'd been crying.

"What…what happens now?" He wiped his eyes.

"The first step is for you to come to PRT Headquarters. The local Youth Guard office will provide you and Taylor an attorney at no cost so that we can discuss the legal ramifications of what happened."

"Will…will you take her away from me?"

The pistol swirled into a knife within her holster.

"Mr. Hebert…Danny. The day a parahuman triggers is, without a doubt, the worst day of our lives. The fact that Taylor triggered meant that something very bad was happening to her. We won't know for sure what until we read that entire journal, and hopefully speak with her. The law does take into account bad trigger events. But we also have to accept that she killed eight classmates. More importantly, there is the possibility we may be looking at a broken trigger."

He turned slowly, conscious of the sheer number of guns in his house, until he looked her in the eye. "What does that mean?"

"Triggers can be so traumatic that sometimes the cape never recovers. Given how violently she reacted when she woke the first time, we have to face the possibility that Taylor's experiences have caused long-term psychological harm. Again, we won't know for sure without extended observation. But please understand that the PRT and the Protectorate are not here to try and punish you for your relationship with her, nor her for something that happened beyond her control. The role of the Protectorate and the PRT is to protect parahumans from others and themselves, but also to protect the public from Parahumans."

"You're saying she might end up in an insane asylum for life?"

"Unfortunately, it does happen, more than the public knows."

She made a show of taking her untouched cup of coffee to his sink. The sink was filled with dirty dishes, so she simply placed it to one side.

"It's late, Mr. Hebert. I'll set an appointment with the Youth Guard appointed attorney tomorrow at nine at the PRT headquarters. The sedatives will have worn off by then and we'll have a better idea what we're dealing with. In the meantime, please try to get some sleep. For your daughter's sake, if for no other."

Miss Militia turned and left the house. Danny never turned away from the backyard as the PRT agents filed out, having ripped his home apart.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Daniel Hebert was fourteen years old when Scion appeared. Considering how deeply his appearance would end up changing the world, the first report of his appearance in 1982 came not with earth-shattering trumpets and applause, but as a small filler story Dan Rather did, smirking the whole time.

"_In more out of out of this world news, passengers on board the ocean liner _Meredith_ reported seeing a golden-skinned, bearded, naked man floating in the air over the water. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, floating, just like Captain Marvel of the comic books." _

In the years preceding the ascendency of the digital age, there were not a plethora of cell phone cameras to prove the unbelievable story. So, though the story caught young Daniel Hebert's imagination, by the time he went to bed he'd already dismissed it.

Except, the next night, there was another story about the floating, golden man being seen over Rome, then Moscow. Soon pictures began to emerge, then video.

During Daniel's junior year in high school, the first superheroes appeared. The golden age of heroes lasted until his freshmen year at UNH Brockton Bay—the year the first superhero was killed by something as mundane as being clubbed in the head by a rioting basketball fan in Michigan. He never made the connection at the time that the first murdered hero, Vikare, was a passenger on board the liner that first spotted the Golden Man, now named Scion by the press.

The appearance of Superheroes was followed by the appearance of the Endbringers—city-destroying monsters that not all the heroes in the world could destroy. Everything escalated. The governments of the world tried to respond—America had its Parahuman Response Team led by mundane humans, with nominal oversight over the Protectorate, it's official hero organization. But that didn't seem to stop the Endbringers, or even the parahuman monsters like the Slaughterhouse Nine. The violence continued to escalate, while the whole world stuttered and stumbled and things just got worse.

Things just continued to get worse. First his Annette died, and now…and now…

Now.

Danny Hebert, age forty-three, stood in the middle of his filthy, cluttered house. Cursing to himself, he walked stiff-legged into the living room and started picking up the trash he'd let pile up since Dorothy at the office ran in to tell him about the fire at Winslow.

He stopped after a few minutes when his arms were full and a cheap plastic fork fell out of one of the cartons. Why hadn't he just grabbed a trash bag? _Why hadn't he…?_

He let it all fall to the floor, and a second later followed it as he collapsed to his knees. He didn't sob, he simply knelt there in the blaring, hateful light of his empty house and stared unfocused at the floor.

There, on the floor by the old coffee table that Annette insisted they buy at a garage sale right before Taylor was born, he saw a picture of Taylor and Emma Barnes. Each had their arms over the shoulders of the other. They were both mugging for the camera—Alan's perfect, red-headed little angel next to his darling little owl.

_Emma just laughed about how clumsy I was._

Danny wasn't even sure what he was doing until he was out of the house without a coat in the frigid January evening, walking stiff-legged through the snow in his front yard to his old pick-up truck. The windshield was iced over, but he didn't care. He climbed in and started the defrost to full blast, not waiting for it to work before he pulled out and started heading southeast toward Alan Barnes' home.

He had no idea what he wanted to say. Would he punch the man? Hug him? Cry? He just didn't have the ability to process the emotions that were surging through his head as he ran the unseen red light onto the turnpike, right into the path of an on-coming eighteen-wheeler barreling along at sixty miles an hour.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Hannah Washington did not sleep. Her lack of sleep wasn't due to insomnia or other physiological damage that put her in a constant state of drowsiness that she could not resolve. Rather, she simply did not need sleep.

Oh, that's not to say she hadn't taken a nap here and there. Whenever she did, though, she did not dream. Instead, she _relived._ With the terrible, cruel clarity, she found herself back in her homeland, walking through a forest with nine other children from a village she knew, even then, was dead. Her parents, her aunt and uncle. Her cousins.

The Turkish soldiers used her and the other children as living minesweepers. She'd watched two of her friends murdered by the soldiers; watched as one of the monsters made a joke about Kovan's cries, as if he were a pet and not a suffering, hurt child. Until, that is, the man shot Kovan in the back of his head.

Her turn came to walk into the forest, and she knew her death approached.

The soldier was behind her, shoving her and ordering her to continue, but she knew the patch right in front of her was a trap set by the freedom fighters in their area. She knew if she stepped forward, she would die.

The soldier pushed her, shouting at her to walk, and she felt her muscles begin to obey even though her mind screamed because it would kill her. Abruptly, she saw something vast.

_It wasn't big in the sense that the trees or even the mountains were big. It was big in the way that transcended what she could even see or feel. It was like seeing something bigger than the whole wide planet, except more – this thing that was too large to comprehend to start with, it extended. She didn't have a better word to describe what she was perceiving. It was as though there were mirror images of it, but each image existed in the same place, some moving differently, and sometimes, very rarely, one image came in contact with with something that the others didn't. Each of the images was as real and concrete as the others. And this made it big in a way that she couldn't describe if she were a hundred year old scholar or philosopher with access to the best libraries in the world._

_And it was alive. A living thing._

_She knew without having to think about it, each of those echoes or extensions of the entity was as much a part of a connected whole as her hand or nose was to her. Each was something this living entity was aware of, controlled and moved with intent and purpose. As though it existed and extended into those possible selves all at once._

It's dying_, she thought. The outermost extensions of the creature were flaking off and breaking into fragments as it swam through an emptiness without air, not moving but sinuously adjusting its self through the existences that held the echoes, shrinking away here and swelling there, carrying itself away at a speed that outpaced light. In its wake, flakes and fragments sloughed off of the entity like seeds from an impossibly large karahindiba, or dandelion, in a steady wind. Seeds more numerous than all the specks of dirt across all the Earth._

_One of those fragments seemed to grow, getting bigger, larger, looming in her consciousness until it was all she could perceive, as though the moon was falling, colliding with the earth. Falling directly on top of her._

A loud buzz broke her out of her memories. Frowning, Hannah Washington, known to the world as the parahuman hero Miss Militia, accepted the call on her phone. "Militia."

"_Miss Militia, this is Terry Brockweiler. You scheduled an appointment with me this morning at nine with Mr. Daniel Hebert?"_

She frowned. "He's a no show?"

"_No, Miss Milita, he's dead. Mr. Hebert was involved in a fatal car crash last night just before midnight. His blood alcohol level was four times the legal limit."_

Hanna closed her eyes, recalling just how broken the man was last night when he learned the truth of what happened. He wasn't a bad man, and he didn't deserve what happened to him any more than Taylor did.

"Thank you for telling me."

The line disconnected. Hannah stood from her desk and looked around the small room that served as her home. Unlike most of the other Protectorate members, Hannah didn't maintain a home off base. Almost her entire life in America was spent among Capes—outside of her official capacity she didn't even know how to communicate with civilians, much less feel at ease enough to live around them.

She took a quick shower and dressed in her PRT business suit. A pair of non-prescription glass frames and an ID badge transformed her from Miss Militia to Hannah Washington, PRT senior agent. She suspected many of the other agents saw through the disguise easily, but they, like her, found comfort in the fiction. In fact, sometimes it was only the fiction of it all which kept the PRT and Protectorate working.

Two floors down brought her to the high security area. She concentrated on making sure her sidearm stayed static. She had authorization to carry even in non-carry areas, but that was also a part of the fiction.

The hall beyond the security checkpoint was guarded by every Tinker-tech device Armsmaster and the other Protectorate Tinkers could think of. Force fields, containment form and even lasers were just some of the countermeasures in place to prevent anyone from escaping.

Within the long hall, off-set to prevent prisoners from seeing each other, were the cells themselves. Most were empty—the capes who needed cells like these rarely stayed long. At the end of the hall were their three special containment units. She turned to her left and was not surprised to see Armsmaster there. In his civilian identity, Colin Wallis stood an even six feet with a build made fit by constant exercise. Unlike many parahumans, Colin didn't possess enhanced strength or durability. As a Tinker, all his power came in the amazing, impossible technology he could build. The perfect example was the power-armor he wore when she spotted him, which brought his height much closer to seven feet.

Director Emily Piggot barely came up to his elbow while he was in his armor. The obese director of the Brockton Bay PRT East-Northeast stood with her hands behind her back, as if at military ease.

Hannah joined them and looked in through the heavily reinforced Tinker-made carbon sheathed glass at the figure within. Taylor Hebert appeared to be a tall, thin girl of fifteen years. She had fair skin and dark, curly hair that the medical techs had gathered in a skull cap. She wore a simple gown that just barely served for modesty. She was strapped down to her gurney at three points along each arm and leg, her waist and her chest, but it was the two automated injectors prepared to plunge powerful sedatives into her neck that served as their primary means of securing the prisoner.

Hannah couldn't help but look at the crack in the lower right corner of the left carbon sheath. The material was rated to handle a ballistic missile, but the girl had cracked it with her telekinesis in the brief moments she'd last been awake.

"How are Dauntless and Battery?" she asked when she arrived.

"Recovering," Armsmaster said. "Panacea responded quickly and was able heal them last night."

"And your arm?" she asked.

He didn't even shrug. "It's fine. How'd your meeting with the father go?"

The thought of the man she saw last night made her sigh. "The father was killed in a car wreck last night," Militia said.

"Shit," Piggot cursed.

Armsmaster merely clucked his tongue. "Cape?"

"Drunk, and emotionally unstable. I shouldn't have left him alone—I should have brought him in myself and let him sleep it off. He was a wreck."

"And he's left us in a pickle," Piggot said, having already dismissed the man's death. "If word gets out that Sophia Hess was one of our Wards—a teenaged cape we were sworn to train and protect—there could be serious repercussions. If the public finds out she was implicated in causing a bad trigger, it could be worse for all of us. Eight teenagers are dead, we have a destroyed high school and a city mayor screaming to hold somebody accountable. Not to mention the whole fiasco of calling a quarantine."

Hannah knew the last was a dig at Armsmaster. He and the director were not friends even on the best day. Nor would Armsmaster ignore a jibe. "Given the telepathic attack, it was the right call."

"Fortunately for you the Chief Director agreed," Piggot said.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the subject is starting to come out of it." The med tech spoke to them through the overhead speakers. The doctor was not in the same room as Hebert. If nothing else, the PRT tried to learn from their mistakes, and thirteen seriously wounded PRT agents and three seriously wounded capes was definitely a mistake. Instead, the tech was monitoring the patient remotely.

The girl slowly turned her head toward them, blinking her eyes tiredly, as if unable to focus. Hannah felt a moment's concern when the color of the girl's irises seemed to shift from black, to brown, to a disconcerting orange tone, one after the other without a discernible pattern, until settling back into a solid, corner-to-corner black.

Hebert tried to move her arms—her hands clawed up and she shook her head as much as the cradle allowed. Abruptly her whole body tensed, as if she were being shocked. She began screaming—a hoarse, painful sound made by a throat still raw from the last screaming fit. Unlike her first fit, Militia could hear what sounded like words in the screaming.

Abruptly the carbon sheathed glass cracked again and the far reinforced wall bulged out as if struck by a Brute 8. A second later both needles plunged into her long, exposed neck. Her scream turned into a pained cry. Hannah could see tears in the girl's eyes as the sedatives quickly pulled her under.

"She metabolized the sedative much faster this time," Armsmaster noted. "At this rate, they will cease to be effective within two days. We have until then to decide what to do with her."

"We found a journal," Militia began.

"Yes, I read it this morning," Piggot said. "The angry ramblings of a confused pubescent child. Though, knowing what we did about Hess, it wouldn't shock me if some bullying did occur. That doesn't change anything. If we can't establish some control, we're not going to have any choice but to ship Hebert to Asylum East."

"Director…" Hannah began.

"Miss Washington…" The director always followed protocol, and Hannah was not in costume. "She is our problem. With her father's death and the absence of any other immediate living family, she is now a Ward of the Protectorate. It's my call, and that call will be Asylum East if we can't get her power under control. The alternative is the Birdcage."

Hanna nodded, forcing her expression blank. "I understand, Director."

Piggot nodded, glared one more time at the girl, and then turned to walk away.

* * *

Preview Post. Regular posting will begin once Invincible is done.-DM


	2. Winslow Simurgh

A/N: Chap 1 review responses are in my forums as normal. I am only able to run 10 forums as a time, so I have deleted my old Last Jedi forum. (For my story, not the god-awful movie). I've also posted an author's note at the end of this chapter. You _**should**_ read it.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Winslow Simurgh**

_Leviathans move upon the deep. She could have covered her eyes and ears, wrapped her head in a thousand blankets and hidden in the deepest hole, and still she would see them. _

_Larger than planets and yet able to perch on the head of a pin, the leviathans move through the void at speeds beyond imagination. They warp not just space but dimensions and time itself with the ease a man would have walking down the sidewalk. Behind them is only the vast emptiness of intergalactic void, ahead the sparkling hope of energy and life. A spiral galaxy, pristine and untouched._

**DESTINATION**.

**AGREEMENT**.

_Not words. Not thoughts. Billions of minute nuances of a similar concept, like a single word expressed and understood by a billion different people. The communication rips into her being at wavelengths beyond understanding, stripping away all coherent thought except for what her puny consciousness can translate as two infinitely nuanced words._

_They are too impossible to be false—more real than reality itself. All existence seems a lie compared to the horrifying, agonizing truth of the leviathans as they oscillate toward the galaxy. Living beings, but not alive like any sentient being she can imagine. They fold in among themselves, in and out of space as if they are crossing into higher and lower dimensions at will._

_If a nebula lived—if a galaxy lived—it would be like these monstrous beings. Devoid of goodness. Devoid of light. Alien beyond measure. There is only hunger and death and an entropic circling toward nothingness. She does not feel awe as before the gates of heaven, but rather terror as before the maw of hell. These luminous beings are not creatures of creation or life; she knows this with every iota of her being._

_They enter the galaxy, traversing its vastness with the same speed with which they traverse the void between. In a single gestalt instance, they absorb information from across the entire galaxy. They drink the various electromagnetic spectrums like men lost for days in the desert, and with the energy and light comes information. Worlds beyond human counting they account in a nanosecond. Moons and stars and everything in between. _

**DESTINATION.**

**AGREEMENT.**

**TRAJECTORY.**

**AGREEMENT.**

_The course is set. A small world around an unremarkable sun with a species similar to ones they have encountered before. A promise of conflict to restore the lost cycle. To grow strong. They cross the oceans of time and space, planning and preparing as they grow closer._

_Abruptly a third entity appears, emerging from a higher plane of existence almost on top of the other two leviathans. This one is smaller, leaner. Starved of energy and yet expending more energy as it moves. It flies toward the two larger creatures._

**EXCHANGE.**

**AGREEMENT.**

_The newcomer crushes against the two leviathans. The joining is sinuous and beyond imagining in its violence. Pocket dimensions form and collapse with expenditures of energy that could outshine whole suns as they writhe around each other like nebula-sized lovers. They rip each other apart with force to crush moons into dust. The paired leviathans flounder as the newcomer bloats itself on the shards of their being, while sharing few of its own in return. _

**ATTACK.**

**REPULSE.**

_The paired leviathans strike at the third, emitting energies that make a pulsar look dim. The attacker contracts and withdraws only a distance._

**PROTECTION.**

**REJECTION.**

_All three entities seem almost to bleed. The second of the original pair flounders, writhing in a thousand dimensions at once as it struggles to restore it's lost mass, power and self. It's blood- like shards of neutron stars shower across the many dimensional earths below. _

_The Third Entity too is bleeding from its encounter, though not as much. It bleeds out energy, but only a single shard of its body falls. It is that lone shard, glistening not with light but with something beyond description, that falls so quickly toward her. _

_~~Quintessence~~_

_~~Quintessence~~_

Taylor Herbert tried to cover her ears. The roaring in her mind was so loud it didn't just hurt, it burned. She felt her eyes bulge and her skin prickle and her very bones vibrate with the sudden, impossible rush of noise. It was the roar of a football stadium during a game, only a stadium the size of the planet with everyone in it screaming their loudest.

Her own screams were lost in the roar—her pain so insignificant compared to the enormity of the all-encompassing noise—that she could feel her heart and her skin and the whole of her body and soul being burned by the sheer enormity of it. It felt as if her very soul were being flayed apart.

Nor was it sound. Images blasted through her brain in untold numbers—of ships and weapons and sciences she'd never imagined, much less learned. It was too much, too fast.

Something in her mind _cracked._ It wasn't a physical sound, nor physical sensation. It wasn't a bone breaking or tendon tearing. And yet the jarring, cracking sensation crashed through her mind just like the roaring before did.

**Be at peace, Child**_._ **You are not alone. The Force is with you, always.**

_~~Quintessence~~_

_~~Quintessence~~_

Taylor opened her eyes.

She saw a smooth, white metallic ceiling. She was laying down on a hard surface. She tried to turn, but cold metal restraints held her head still. She tried moving her arms, legs or her body, but in doing so felt straps securing her to a table. It felt cushioned, if only thinly. She could feel two points, thin and sharp, hovering so close to the veins in her neck they tickled the fine hairs there. A soreness at those spots made her think of needles.

_Taylor, can you hear me? _"Taylor, can you hear me?"

She frowned at the odd echo in her head. _Yes. _"Yes?" _Yes_.

Rather than answer immediately, she heard her own word echo. She felt fear radiating from her left. As if she were staring at them with her own eyes, she sensed two figures she'd grown up admiring—Miss Militia and Armsmaster.

She always thought Miss Militia was beautiful. She wore modified combat gear—cargo pants and a camouflage shirt. She used red, white and blue scarves as a belt and mask. The air at her hip shimmered with various weapons.

Armsmaster stood silent and resolute, a tall human encased in even more steel-blue armor. He reminded her very much of one of her dad's old movies, Robocop. Only he wore a beard. Between them stood a short, obese woman with a horrid yellow haircut. She felt ill to Taylor, though she couldn't say why.

_Need to see if she can stop doing that. _"Taylor, I need you to listen to me. When you answered just now, you spoke aloud, but you also spoke to us telepathically. Do you understand?"

Telepathically? She thought about it, about the echo she heard in her head, and the echo she heard in their heads.

_Their heads. Oh._

She'd been trying to hear, reaching out to grasp some understanding of where she was. Now, she stopped reaching so hard. "Is this…is this better?'

"Yes, thank you." Miss Milita had a nice voice. It was intensely feminine—soft and rounded over a core of steel. Taylor blushed a little at how womanly the voice was, and the beautiful figure the voice belonged to. She wanted so much to be womanly like that, instead of flat, tall ugly and skinny.

"Taylor, I'm Miss Militia. You're in PRT Headquarters. Do you remember anything about what happened?"

_Laughter. Dark. Stench. Cramps and pain and bugs crawling on her and …and…_

"I…I was in my locker. It was filled with… It smelled bad. Rot. Sophia hit the back of my head until she got me in, then slammed it shut. They were laughing at me. They wouldn't let me out! None of the other kids helped. None of the teachers. They just left me in and…and…"

"TAYLOR!"

The sound of Miss Militia barking at her brought Taylor out of the nightmare. She was back on the table, with two sharp needles pressed precariously close to either side of her neck. She wished she could turn to see Miss Militia with her eyes, but she couldn't move her head.

"Taylor, I know you're scared and upset. I'm sorry this is happening to you, but I need you to stay calm, do you understand?"

"What's happening?" Taylor asked. "Why am I here?"

"There was an accident at Winslow. People were hurt. We brought you here to keep you safe."

"Why am I strapped down like this? Please, let me go."

"_Are we muted? We can't release her yet. Her heart rate is spiking, I recommend we sedate her again. Even with her accelerated metabolism, that would buy us two hours to transport her to the rig."_

"_Armsmaster, she's terrified. She's alone. She just lost her father. We need to…"_

"What about my father? What did you just say about my father? Where's dad?"

"_Shit, can she hear us? Militia, did you leave the speakers on?"_

"_No, the speakers are off. The room's mic was muted, there's no way she can hear us!"_

"_Unless she's not listening with her ears." _ A masculine voice, deep and authoritative._ If you want to know about your father, Taylor, you need to say his name._

That didn't make any sense at all, but she was so desperate she didn't care. "Danny Hebert. Daniel. He was head of hiring at the Dockworker's Association. We live at 2214 Iris Avenue. Where is he? Militia said I'd lost him. What happened?"

_He was in a car accident two days after you were hurt. He was upset and worried about you, and had been drinking. I'm sorry._

"You're lying." Tears burned the corners of her eyes. "You've got to be lying! Dad never drove when he drank! Not since Uncle Peter died. He'd never…never…"

Suddenly Taylor saw._ A famous face half-covered in a stars-and-stripes bandana staring at him from the kitchen, gun in hand. Armed men in the living room taking pictures, staring at him. A flash of light and the blaring of a semi's horn. The sound of twisting metal and a terrible, crushing pain. _

_A last thought: _I'm so sorry, Taylor.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought of what the vision meant. Miss Militia was in her house.

"Did you kill him?" she asked. Her voice cracked. "When you went to our house, did you kill him?"

"_Taylor_…" Guilt. Militia felt guilt. She felt responsible_._

A red film bloomed in the center of Taylor's vision as a burning, painful RAGE rushed through her mind. Needles plunged into her neck. She cried out against the cold that washed under her skin, numbing it. Despite the drugs, with her will alone she ripped the syringes from her skin. She heard the mechanical arms groan as she tore them away from the table. With a grunt of concentration, the bindings fell away and she rolled to her feet.

For the first time she saw them with her own eyes—Armsmaster, Miss Militia and the short, fat woman with blonde hair in a horrible bob. All three were staring at her through thick glass.

"Taylor, you need to…" Militia began.

"YOU KILLED MY DAD!"

Her rage seemed to reverberate all around her, feeding back into her mind in a vicious cycle that made the rage even more powerful—even more unbearable. The table ripped up out of the floor with the moan of breaking metal bolts and shot toward the window like a bullet. The window cracked but did not break, so Taylor did it again.

"You killed him, you fucking bitch! You killed my Dad! I hate you! I hate you! You killed my Dad! I'll kill you! I hate you!"

The cold in Taylor's neck spread down her arms and up the base of her skull, making it harder and harder to throw the table. The glass cracked but wouldn't break, so Taylor reached beyond it. With a scream of helpless, lost rage that pressed down around her as well as pushed out from within, she reached out her hand as if she could feel Militia's neck in her fingers, and with all her rage and might squeezed.

The snap of Miss Militia's neck didn't seem like it should have been as loud as it was, but the sound of it, and the woman's folding to the floor like a bag filled with gelatin, brought all sound and motion to a stop. The cold from the injections in her neck stole the strength from Taylor's knees and sent her to the floor.

She heard a deep, anguished male voice scream, "Hannah!" seconds before white foam exploded from the ceiling, and the drugs sent her spiraling back down into the black.

_~~Quintessence~~_

_~~Quintessence~~_

"…instantly. She didn't suffer."

Chevalier, head of the Philadelphia Protectorate team, did not respond to Armsmaster's statement. Instead, he simply stood beside the open casket where Miss Militia's body rested in state. He'd never seen her sleep before, not in all the years he knew her. Even during those brief, stolen moments of passion, he'd never seen her simply lay with her eyes closed at peace.

His fingers shook as he took her hand. Her fingers felt stiff, but not cold. Her hand was room temperature.

"And now there are only two left," he whispered.

At the foot of the cedar wood casket, Armsmaster stiffened. "The inaugural Wards team?"

"We were just kids," Chevalier whispered. "Ten of us. Supposedly a safe place to learn how to use our powers. It's not even been twenty years, and only two of us are left."

Chevalier wasn't in his armor. He didn't carry his cannonblade. His power to combine and augment weapons gave him no purchase on how to handle the death of one of his oldest, dearest friends. Even if their romance did not last, their friendship always had.

Nothing gave him the tools he needed to handle the tears that ran down the felt mask he used to protect his identity.

"Where is she? The girl who did this?"

"Under sedation in Level 10 containment," Armsmaster said.

"I want to see her."

Chevalier and Armsmaster had never been close friends, but only because Armsmaster was incapable of being a close friend to anyone. However, in the presence of the body of someone both valued, they found they had something in common.

"This way."

Chevalier was not surprised to see other heroes standing outside the window when he arrived. Miss Militia was not just respected, but personally liked by almost everyone who knew her. Legend, the leader of the New York Protectorate and one third of the Triumvirate which founded and ran the Protectorate as a whole, turned to see him approach with a sad smile.

The elder hero, with his striking blue suit decorated with lighting strikes and a long cape, stepped forward to offer a hand and a hug.

"Chevalier. I'm so sorry. How are you holding up?"

Chevalier returned the hug. Of the original founders of the Inaugural Wards team, Hero had always been his personal patron. But after Hero's death, Legend did his best to fill the gap. Hero had been personable, like a favorite uncle. Legend, though, was fatherly. At that moment, Chevalier appreciated it.

"Good as can be. Mouse, how are you?"

Behind Legend, the only other surviving member of the Inaugural Wards team wiped away a tear and clomped onto him with a strong hug. Just as Mouse Protector used over-the-top theatrics in her cape career, her emotions were just as powerful in private. She clung to him and sobbed.

"I can't believe she's gone!"

The other two heroes, Brockton Bay's own Battery and Dauntless, stood silent. Behind her mask, Battery's eyes looked moist with tears as well. Dauntless, behind his Spartan-inspired helmet, simply looked somber.

Hands were shaken, hugs dispensed, and then Chevalier stood before cracked carbon-sheathed glass to stare at the figure within who killed one of the few people Chevalier believed he still loved.

Even as his eyes took in her slim, almost gaunt figure, his power gave him a different sight.

Chevalier saw powers. They presented themselves as visions, usually of the parahuman's past. Often what he saw were symbols of that cape's trigger event—that day when things went so horribly wrong that they broke, and in the process got power. For him, it was the day his parents died in a car crash, and his brother was kidnapped in the confusion.

For this girl, he knew from the report it was the day three mean girls stuffed her in a locker filled with biological waste. What his vision told him, though, was something completely different. For one thing, her body glowed with intensity. It wasn't a color, or even a light, simply the feeling he had looking at her regarding the intensity of her power itself which his mind interpreted as a glow.

Standing over her was a single, glowing figure. She stood tall and almost inhumanly lithe, with abnormally large eyes a slightly lighter shade of gray than the glowing skin. The figure's head was shaven save for a long braid that hung down one side of her head. She was obviously but inhumanly female, but stood holding what looked like a sword protectively over the figure of the unconscious cape.

"What do you see, Chevy?" Mouse Protector asked. She wiped her tears before placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"The girl's a double trigger," Chevalier said. He didn't mention the figure because he didn't know it meant.

Another hand—heavier and stronger—gripped his other shoulder. He turned to see Legend's compassionate, sad smile.

"Rebecca is holding a briefing. Come."

Chevalier fell in behind the Protectorate leader. He said nothing as Mouse Protector took his hand. It had nothing to do with romance, and everything to do with a need for comfort. He gripped it and forced a smile for her sake.

Battery and Dauntless followed behind. The two capes were both younger. Neither had known Militia as anything other than a patron and teacher.

The conference room of the PRT Headquarters in Brockton Bay was utilitarian at best. The chairs looked old, the dark blue fabric faded to the color of an afternoon sky with use. The walls held no portraits of any kind. Blinds obscured the sunlight from outside.

At the end of the table was a large flat-screen monitor that dominated the wall. Just under it, Deputy Director Renick sat at a keyboard, handling the technical aspects of the teleconference.

Director Piggot sat at the end of the table facing the televised face of Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, head of the Parahuman Response Team organization nation-wide. At Legend's direction, Chevalier and Mouse Protector joined him on the right side, their backs to the windows. Armsmaster sat to Piggot's left side, joined by Battery and Dauntless. The rest of the city's capes were on duty or at school, in the case of the devastated Wards team.

"Thank you all for coming during this difficult time," the Chief Director said. Chevalier had never met Costa-Brown in person, but from his many teleconferences had the impression that any emotions she projected were just that: projections. Where Legend's compassion was a real, almost tactile sense, the Chief Director's words simply rang hollow and perfunctory. "Miss Militia was a treasured member of the Protectorate and a good friend to many. She will be missed."

Costa-Brown made a show of lifting a folder and reviewing its contents.

"Armsmaster, in your report on Hebert you gave her a Blaster classification of 7 and Thinker classification of 10+. Can you explain that for the room?"

Chevalier tried to hide his surprise. Like every cape and civilian associated with capes, he knew what the classifications were. Originally designed as a short-hand method to assist the PRT when dealing with capes, they had grown into entrenched labels. Armsmaster, for instance, was a Tinker, able to produce technology centuries beyond what humanity was currently capable of. Legend, with the ability to shoot lasers powerful enough to level cities, was a Blaster. Chevalier himself was classified as a striker because of how he could alter his weapons with touch, and a thinker because of how he could see powers.

A classification of 10 or higher, though, was almost in the realm of Triumvirate or Endbringer levels. It meant only Protectorate members in team strength should even approach the girl.

"The Subject is a free telekinetic without Manton limits, and a telepath."

_Telepath._

Of all the powers in the world—from Tinkers who could shatter the walls between dimensions to shakers who could reshape the world itself—telepathy was the one power considered impossible. The only known telepath in existence, in fact, was an Endbringer. And even that was considered as much a shaker effect as anything. For this girl to have a power like the Simurgh was a terrifying thought.

"Explain for everyone, please," the Chief Director said.

Armsmaster nodded. "When the subject regained enough lucidity following her second trigger event to speak, she telepathically projected her words to our minds. She listened to a conversation we had which she could not possibly hear. Later, I communicated directly with her by thought alone—she was able to hear my thoughts as if I spoke them aloud, confirming information I thought but which she could not have otherwise known. This confirms our initial suspicion that the means she incapacitated her entire high school was a telepathic event."

"I sense a 'but' there," the Chief Director said.

"Yes, ma'am. Her power was imperfect. The night before, Miss Militia executed a search warrant of the Hebert home. The subject's father, Daniel Hebert, was intoxicated and upset. While confrontational, he did not impede the search. It was during the search we found the subject's journal, in which she implicated the three victims in her trigger event. Shortly after Miss Militia left, Daniel Hebert ran a red light and was killed in the resulting crash. The subject somehow knew that Miss Militia was the last person to see her father, and blamed her for his death. It was this last which led her to attack Militia personally."

"At which point she telekinetically crushed Miss Militia's neck through a carbon-sheathed tinker glass," Costa-Brown said. She sounded like a lawyer discussing abstract facts, rather than talking about the murder of a strong, valiant woman.

"Correct," Armsmaster said. "After, I might add, she was injected with sufficient tranquilizers to put down a Brute 5. Her body is metabolizing the tranquilizing agent so fast that we are on the clock for keeping her contained. While I am working on something stronger, it won't be finished in time."

"You don't believe the level 10 containment will hold her?"

"No, Chief Director. I believe without the tranquilizer she will be able to escape handily. Even without being fully cognizant, she easily disabled an entire PRT team and came damned close to killing both Battery and Dauntless. She broke my arm even through my armor. If she breaks containment, I don't believe any non-lethal means will contain her."

Being as self-aware as he was, Chevalier found it interesting that the idea of using lethal measures on a teenaged girl did not actually bother him. Not after holding his former lover's hand and feeling it at room temperature.

The Chief Director looked down at the report again, her Latino features schooled in an unreadable mask. Finally, she looked back up and through the screen everyone in the room could feel the intensity of her gaze.

"What happened to Miss Hebert is tragic and inexcusable. She didn't deserve what happened, any more than any other innocent victim deserves what happens to them. If she had come to us, we would have welcomed her with compassion and assistance. Up until a certain point, she was purely a victim. Until, that is, she used her power to murder Miss Militia. After that, she became a villain. Because of her telepathy, and the fact that her power is not Manton limited, she represents an immediate threat to the public that the PRT cannot otherwise contain."

Costa-Brown removed a sheet of paper from her otherwise immaculate desk. "Armsmaster, please coordinate with Dragon for an emergency high-speed air transport to Vancouver. By the time you have her there, the conviction and sentence confining Taylor Hebert to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center will be approved by the Court."

Costa-Brown skewered Piggot with a hard gaze.

"In the meantime, Director Piggot, I expect every single person who had any role to play in this event to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Anyone who received a complaint of bullying yet failed to act on it. Any individual who may have attempted to cover up the severity of it. I don't believe for a moment that this girl triggered as badly as she did because of a mild prank. It's too late to save Miss Hebert or those who died because of her, but we can damn well seek justice for their memories."

Piggot nodded. "We're already coordinating with the local police on the investigation."

"I expect a report on my desk by the end of the week telling me what actions the PRT ENE is taking. Good day." The chief director terminated the call.

Fifteen-year-old Taylor Hebert was about to be sent to the worst prison in the world—a prison that had no exits, with no possibility of parole, that held the worst monsters in the world that they could capture.

The only thing Chevalier could think was: _Good._

* * *

A/N: The taglines for Worm for Worm includes: The Road to Hell is paved with Good Intentions. Also, "It Gets Worse". Worm is not a nice story. Bad things happen to _every single character_. It is a story about superheroes that is, oddly enough, devoid of heroes.

Quintessence is a hard story. Not hard to write. I wrote so much what i'm posting is almost a full novel shorter than what I wrote to begin with. No, it's hard in that the world Wildbow created is collapsing in on itself. We only saw a tiny part of it through Taylor's POV in canon, but the implications Wildbow made painted a horrifying world. So, before you got too far into it, I want to reiterate what should be obvious:

1) This story is rated M. It is for adult readers with adult mindsets. It contains scenes of human trafficking and every horrid thing that implies. I will never graphically write such scenes, but there are deeply disturbing implications. Just as were hinted at in the canon material.

2) This is not Broken Chains. Taylor is not Dark!SithLord!Harry-as-a-girl. She's a fifteen-year-old girl on the run from the entire world. This is the story of how Taylor makes a place for herself in a truly screwed up setting.

3) The majority of this story will not take place in Brockton Bay. While some stations of canon are unavoidable, my intent with this fic was to explore other parts of the Worm world. And no, the Birdcage is _not_ one of those settings.

If you are squeamish; if you can't stand for your characters to experience hardship with their victories; if you just hate anything that isn't all sunshine and puppies-this story may not be for you. I loved it. I enjoyed it so much that I _overwrote_ it and had to cut the story by a third. But I have no illusions about it being a happy, fun read.

You've been warned.


	3. A Really Good Meatloaf

A/N: Chap 2 responses are in my forums like normal. If I missed something you wanted an answer to, that's the place to post it.

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Good Meatloaf **

The beeping sound was what roused Taylor completely out of the cold dark. It was an incessant sound, but muted as if distant, or behind a diffuse barrier. She opened her eyes onto…darkness. She tried to move, but just like last time she woke up restrained. Not just straps and metal braces, but something that felt almost like a liquid against her skin, only a liquid that wasn't wet.

She felt naked under the foam—not even the wire frame of her bra. Why? What possible harm could a pair of underpants and a bra do?

Distorted memories flittered haphazardly though her mind, like from a dream. Screams. Fire. The roar of the noise. Miss Militia's face obscured by a cloud of rage.

_I'm so sorry, Taylor._

The beeping grew louder, more urgent. A polite, synthesized female voice spoke just on the edge of her hearing.

_Prisoner 596, Codename Eavesdropper, Blaster 7 Thinker 10+, is conscious. Recommended protocols were carried out but Protocol 1-A is no longer effective. ETA forty minutes to Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. Chance of escape has increased to 32.4567%._

Baumann? Taylor's mind struggled against the blanket of haze and lethargy that seemed to hold her down. Something about the name was important. Baumann. Parahuman. Containment. Center.

_The Birdcage_. Where they sent Lustrum. And Marquis. And Glastig Uaine. A prison without an exit, where the worst capes in the world were sent until they died.

"Why?" she gasped. "I don't understand. Why are you taking me to the Birdcage?"

"You heard me?" The voice was louder, this time, reverberating through the foam. "I was transmitting silently."

"Don't…" Taylor found it hard to swallow in a dry throat. "Why? Why the Birdcage? What did I do? I'm just fifteen!"

A long silence answered her. Finally, the voice responded. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" Taylor couldn't help the hysteria in her voice. "What happened? Why am I here? How can this be happening?"

"As of 10 am Eastern Standard Time, you have been convicted _in absentia_ of three counts of murder in the second degree with a parahuman power, and one count of capital murder with a parahuman power, for the deaths of Emma Barnes, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess, and most recently, Miss Militia of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. You were found guilty of involuntary manslaughter with a parahuman power for the deaths of five other girls killed in the fire you caused. While ordinarily the law would take into account the trauma of trigger events and your age, unfortunately your power was deemed a threat to national security because of your murder of Miss Militia. You're not being sent to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center to punish you. You're being sent there to protect everyone else from you."

The words felt like slaps, one after the other. She tried to remember what happened to the Bitches Three after they locked her in, but she couldn't. All she remembered was the pain from the roaring, and the strange vision of the monsters fighting, and…and...her father.

"My dad's dead," she gasped. "Oh my God, my dad is dead. They killed my dad. Why am I going to the Birdcage when they killed my dad? Why?"

"Taylor, I know it won't make you feel any better, but please understand that Miss Militia did not kill your father. During the investigation into what happened at your high school, she was charged with searching your home. You were held for two days, and your father was understandably upset. He had been drinking. After Miss Militia left, he ran a red light and was struck by a sixteen-wheeler."

"Bullshit! She thought she killed him. I saw it! I _felt it!_"

"If she felt that way, Taylor, it was because Miss Militia was a kind, selfless person who hated when bad things happened to good people. She stated in her report that she should have taken him into PRT headquarters to let him sleep off his intoxication instead of leaving him alone like she did. She most certainly did feel guilty for his death, Taylor. But she didn't kill him. You, on the other hand, did kill her."

"I…what?" She started to deny it, until the memory broke through the lingering haze of the drugs. The rage she felt, and the way she could feel everything in Miss Militia's neck, from her spine to her windpipe. The rage abated into a brief satisfaction at the feel of another person's neck being crushed from within, before the darkness came.

She really did it. Taylor Hebert, aged fifteen, was a murderer.

"Oh God," she whispered. She murdered a Protectorate Hero—one she actually looked up to as a kid—and now she was going to hell for the rest of her exceedingly short life because of it.

Taylor closed her eyes as fear and rage battled inside her. The utter injustice of it all left her breathless. For a year and a half the girls at school tortured her. She lost her mom, now her dad was dead, and _she_ was the one going to the fucking Birdcage?

"It's just not fair," she whispered through her tears. "Why couldn't the fuckers just kill me already? Haven't I been tortured enough?"

The polite voice, which Taylor began to suspect was the internationally renowned Tinker named Dragon, did not answer. What could she say? Taylor's life was over, she had nothing left to live for. She had no friends, and now she had no family. She had no future at all.

The only desire she had left, the only hope she could summon, was to somehow _not_ go to the Birdcage. With that hope came a memory—the feeling she had of Miss Militia's neck. She could feel everything—the individual vertebra of her neck, the spinal column; the air travelling through her windpipe and the blood moving through her arteries. Somehow, she tapped into something that let her feel things beyond her body.

She tried to remember what it was, and almost instantly became aware of a stream of…of _everything_ that flowed constantly through the back of her mind. Within this stream were the roars she heard when she first woke up, only now restrained and controllable. They were thoughts, she realized. Everyone else's thoughts.

Through this strange, undefinable stream of _everything, _she could feel things all around her. She could feel the dagger-like shape of the jet that carried her, with its tiny, back-swept wings flying so fast not even sound could keep up. She could feel every aspect of the craft, some of which she was surprised to find she could understand. At its heart was not a pilot, but a cluster of microscopic relays that reminded Taylor a great deal of a human brain.

_Droid._ With the thought came a stream of images and thoughts and knowledge she couldn't possibly have. She assumed the droid brain was something Dragon built, which would make sense. It startled her, but also made her realize that she was the only living thing on the craft.

She focused her will on the fuel intake valves and knew with a sense of growing numbness that she could crush them. She could make the plane crash. It wasn't like anyone else was aboard. She knew she'd die if she did. As much as she didn't want to die, the thought of the Birdcage was so terrifying she couldn't stand the thought of it. If she crashed the jet, then at least the nightmare of her life would finally….be…over.

Without a second's further hesitation, she crushed the fuel intake valves with her power. Alarms blared. The background roar of the jets she'd only been partially conscious of cut out, and suddenly they were falling.

"Taylor, what did you do?" The voice sounded alarmed, but not for herself. "We're supersonic. You can't survive a wreck at the speeds we're going."

Her throat hurt. From screaming? She spoke anyway. "Who cares? Really, who cares? The only person in the world who loved me is dead, and now I'm going to jail for killing his murderer." She hated the tears she could hear in her voice. "No thanks, I think I'd rather die. Maybe if all the priests weren't lying like everyone else, I'll get to see mom and dad again."

Her stomach jumped into her throat as the plane lost all forward momentum and began plummeting. She felt tears well up in her eyes and squeezed them shut, her whole body tensing in terrible anticipation.

"I'm so sorry, Taylor," the voice said. "I wish more than you know that things could be different for you. I understand why you did what you did. But I cannot allow you to die. I won't."

Abruptly Taylor felt a violent jerk of motion horizontal to the plummeting craft. Wind billowed outside her pillow of foam, but none of it touched her. She flipped awkwardly in free fall, fighting hard not to throw up, when suddenly a loud billow slowed her fall drastically.

A parachute. She'd been ejected, still in her containment cell, from the jet. Instantly a deep, brittle cold began to permeate the foam. More important, she felt the whole unit jerk abruptly, with the motion accompanied by the sound of small jets. She was being directed? To where?

She had plenty of time to think about it. It felt like she was falling forever, growing colder and colder as she did, until abruptly the entire unit hit the ground. The foam kept her from collapsed into a pile at the jarring, painful impact, but did nothing for the intense cold.

The stream of _everything_ in the back of her mind whispered to her, guided her. She drew it into her body, making her skin tingle as a warmth enveloped her. It wasn't enough to make her feel comfortable, but it was enough to keep her from freezing to death.

She hoped, anyway.

So, here she was covered in foam and wrapped up in restraints, somewhere very cold, without an idea of what time it was or where she was. She wondered if her situation had improved or become worse. She didn't have long to wait. Within a few bitter, freezing-cold minutes, she heard vehicles pulling up, followed by heavy metal doors slamming shut.

"Hello? Miss Hebert, can you hear me?"

Taylor frowned, anger and helplessness warring inside her. Dragon, if it was her controlling the droid brain, must have alerted the authorities. Maybe that's what the small jets were for? For all she knew, she landed in the middle of an army base.

"You've landed in Grand Forks Air Force Base," the speaker announced, confirming that God, the Universe and Scion all hated her. "PRT agents are en route. I know it's cold in there, but the law says you have to remain contained at all times. If you stay put and cooperate, everything will be fine."

Taylor didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The asshole actually believed his bullshit, she could tell. She tapped into the _everything_ and sensed everything around her easily—a squad of ten military police, made almost inhuman by their thick, heavy coats. She was on a salted, plowed stretch of runway in the dark of night, in an air force base on the edge of creation.

How were things better?

_Make them better. Use the Force._

That seemed an odd term for the _everything_ in her head, but then again her own term for it was a mouthful as well. So far, the odd guidance she'd received hadn't hurt, and she had no further ideas. She concentrated on her immediate cage—metallic straps over her arms, legs and torso. Naked underneath for some pervy reason she decided not to dwell on. And the foam, that damned fucking foam that let her breathe but not move. Abruptly she realized the foam didn't feel wet against her skin any more. It felt hard.

_Brittle_.

How long had it been exposed to the cold? How high were they when she sabotaged the plane? She tried moving, but instead of malleable foam it felt like impossibly strong ice. But the thing about ice was it could still break. The trick was breaking it without breaking herself with it.

She called on the _everything_—on the Force—that seemed to constantly be available to her. With gritted teeth and a sub-vocal growl at what she anticipated was going to be unpleasant, she pulled the energy into her body, just like she did with the heat. More and more she pulled on the energy around her until she felt like she would simply pop.

She released it, all at once, everywhere.

The hard-frozen foam exploded in a shower of ceramic-like shards. The military police around her stumbled back, some struck hard by the shards. In the same instant, Taylor ripped off the metallic restraints that held her until she fell free into the hard, salty, burning cold of the asphalt. Despite the heat she drew into her body, she began shivering violently from the cold and winced at the pain in her bare feet.

Before she could take a single step, she felt a whisper of warning and ducked as one of the soldiers fired his weapon at her. With only a thought, she flung him away so hard he was lost in the gloom and snow. One after the other they fired, two or three at a time in some cases, and somehow, she managed to dodge their shots and fling them away, until she came to the last two. The first she slammed against the truck before ripping the man's heavy coat from him. She slipped it on—it wasn't enough to make her warm, but it at least cut the painful, burning-cold wind. The second, who stood with his gun held in a shaking hand, she concentrated on.

"You're going to take me to your house."

"I'm…going to take you to my house," the man said dully.

"And you'll drop your weapon," Taylor added at the last moment.

"And…I'll drop my weapon."

The heavy pistol fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Taylor glanced at it, and a second later it flew into her hand, where she slipped it into her pocket even as her…thrall?...climbed into one of the Air Force trucks.

She followed him to one of the four vehicles that surrounded her landing site and climbed in after him. "Turn the heat on," she said.

"I'll turn on the heat." He complied, and only as the heat started pouring over her did she allow herself to shiver uncontrollably. The man backed the truck away from shattered containment unit and the billowing parachute that brought her there, turned the truck, and started driving across the parking lot.

Taylor wiped tears from her eyes as she pulled her legs and feet inside the massively oversized coat and tried to stop her shivering.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Hey, babe, what are you doing home early?"

Her name was Tracey. Taylor knew her at a glance, reaching for any advantage she could find. Brunette, fundamentalist Christian parents, just indoctrinated enough in their faith to feel uneasy about her doubts. Never intended to go further than high school. Two kids, proud of her curves and for good reason. Aggressive in what she wanted, but not unkindly so.

Staff Sergeant Jeff Schaefer had loved Tracey since Middle School. He also had fundamentalist parents in the same church. Son, grandson and great grandson of soldiers. Never had a doubt about his career, or his wife. Content in the belief that God loved him. God loved him because he was pious and because his parents and Reverend Tennant said so. He also believed that Judgement Day would occur within his lifetime, and that he and his family would be taken into God's embrace while all the heathens of the world burned.

Taylor hated them both just a little as she followed Jeff into the on-base duplex where his family lived.

When Taylor pulled back the hood of her stolen coat, Tracey Schaefer screamed. She jumped back, yanked her youngest baby into her arms, and backed away in terror as if a naked skinny fifteen-year-old girl in an oversized coat was the most horrifying thing she'd ever seen.

"Jeff, who is this?" Tracey demanded.

"Jeff can't answer you," Taylor said. Seeing the genuine terror in the woman's voice, which her baby picked up enough to begin to cry, she hated herself a little too. "Not yet. I promise I won't hurt any of you. I won't stay long. I need…I need clothes. And some food. It's been a day at least since I ate, maybe more. Money. Then I go, and you're all safe, and you won't ever see me again."

"You're…one of _them. _You're a cape!"

Taylor never knew how evil the word "them" could sound until she heard the fear, disdain, contempt and horror Tracey filled the word with. It was the same way Taylor thought of the "they" who condemned her to the Birdcage. Taylor wondered how the woman could tell, but not enough to dig any deeper in her self-righteous head.

"Clothes, food, money. Then I'm gone."

Taylor considered what a tableau this must have presented. Tracey out-massed her by at least twenty pounds or more, and looked as if she worked out. Taylor had no visible weapons, and looked like a strong wind could blow her away.

Just the fact that she was a cape was enough to cow this woman into terrified paralysis. She looked at Taylor now, tears in her eyes, and assumed the posture of a beggar.

"And you'll let my husband go? You won't hurt us?"

Taylor knew her promise was worthless. But she could see—hell, she could _feel—_how Tracey clung to that promise. The whispers from the Force gave her so many ideas she could use, some enlightened, some sickening. As she stared at the terrified woman with her baby, sure that their oldest was at Nana's, Taylor realized she just couldn't do what the cold, pragmatic part of her knew she should. She knew she should hold the woman hostage to belay an attack.

She just… "I don't want to be the monster they're trying to make me."

Tracey Schaefer blinked, confused. "What?"

"Go." Taylor stepped to the side. "Get your baby, your things, and go. It doesn't matter if you call the police or the PRT. They know I'm here. They might hurt you to get to me. Just…go. Hurry."

"What about Jeff?"

"He'll snap out of it when you're away, but you'd better drive. He'll do what you tell him until then."

That was all the permission Tracey needed. "Jeff, take the baby."

"I'll take the baby," Jeff agreed dully as he took the baby.

If nothing else, Tracey was a prepared mom. In less than five minutes she was dressed, had the baby bundled up like a giant fabric egg, and her family was gone.

"You're going to take me to the mall, Jeff," Tracey said as they stepped into the blizzard.

"I'll take you to the mall," he agreed.

Behind them, Taylor locked their door and walked up the stairs. She found their bedroom easily—spotless save for a basket of freshly laundered clothes sitting on the queen-sized bed. Through the bathroom door she saw the shower stall and felt it pull her like a magnet. She felt utterly filthy and was still shivering from the cold. The soles of her feet hurt.

"I'm already naked," she muttered. She let the coat fall to the floor and in minutes stood under hot water that burned against her frozen skin, and yet felt like heaven.

By the time the first red and blue lights flashed through the bathroom's small window, she was curled in a corner of the shower weeping softly. The pressure against her mind from all the presences outside roused her from her fit of self-pity.

"No more of that, kiddo," she muttered to herself as she turned the water off and dried herself in new, fluffy towels. She tried to remember the last time she used a new towel, especially one so nice. The Air Force must have paid pretty good, considering they didn't have a hell of a lot to do any more.

She stepped in front of the Schaefer's vanity looking for a brush when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Despite herself she screamed a little, startled. Her eyes—they were black. No sclera, no discernable iris. Just solid black from one corner to the other. No wonder Tracey screamed.

Otherwise, she looked the same. Pale, skinny. Enough of a chest to be identified as female, if just barely. Her mother's too-wide mouth and her dad's too big eyes. She took a brief pass at combing her mess of curls, figuring if she was going to die, at least her corpse would have combed hair.

Upon a quick inspection, Taylor discovered that Tracey was half a head shorter than her, but much larger in every way a woman would care about. Even so, she still found a heavy hoodie, yoga pants and sweat pants to layer, and thick woolen socks. Unfortunately, Tracy's shoes were way too short.

However, it turned out that Jeff Schaefer's feet were as small for a man as his wife's were for a woman. With a few extra woolen socks, Taylor was able to slip on a pair of the man's hiking boots. They didn't fit well, but after walking barefoot on salted asphalt in 30 below cold, she didn't care.

She drifted down the stairs and saw through the window blinds a line of lights flashing outside in the dark. They were waiting, she knew. Waiting for the nearest PRT or Protectorate team to arrive. So, she ignored them as she made her way into the kitchen.

Jeff must have received the alert of her landing right before dinner, because there was a still-hot meatloaf and macaroni and cheese on the stove. There was even a little pan of green beans with bacon and onion mixed in, because God and Reverent Tennant wanted them to eat something green, Taylor was sure. Bacon could make even canned green beans taste good.

She drank water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge, then drank more. Then she sat down to a meal of mac and cheese, really good meat loaf, green beans and a diet soda from the fridge. She was sure Tracy mixed some breakfast sausage into the meatloaf. And more bacon.

"Some last meal," she muttered.

More soldiers and police were arriving outside, she could feel. They were worried. Curious, she turned on the Schaefer's television. They had cable, of course. And on the screen, standing in front of a row of military jeeps and police cars surrounding a plain but sturdily built duplex illuminated by emergency lights, stood a pretty blonde in a parka.

"…_was being transported to the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center when she somehow disabled her plane. According to the PRT spokesman, Hebert should be considered extraordinarily dangerous and should not be approached by anyone without heavy Protectorate backup_."

The screen switched back to the gray-haired, paternal anchor with the deep, practiced voice. "_Thank you, Tracy. Any word on which Protectorate member Grand Forks will be host to?"_

"_No word yet, Tom_."

"Nope, no word yet, Tom. So go fuck yourself, Tom."

Taylor shoveled a few more bites of meatloaf in her mouth before she started searching the small duplex. She found a black backpack filled with old Air Force manuals and other illegible books which she dumped. She stuffed a few of Tracey's clothes in the bag, then raided the woman's pantry for water bottles and non-perishable food.

She paused a moment when she saw a tin can labelled "Florida." It was a fruit cake tin with the typical floral pattern one could find on any similar shaped tin across the country. She took it out of the pantry and opened it on the kitchen counter. Inside she found wads of twenty-dollar bills. A quick count revealed close to seven hundred dollars.

"Huh."

She pocketed the money. She cleaned up after herself, using plastic wrap to cover the various pots and pans before placing them in the fridge. She then cleaned her plate and put it in the drying rack. She saw the notepad and winced before writing a quick letter apologizing for taking their clothes, food and money.

By the time she was done, she sensed even more men behind the house as well as in front. In fact, it felt as if they had the entire structure surrounded—not just the duplex she was in, but the neighboring duplex as well.

A glance at the window in back revealed an open field filled with police cars and military vehicles, with only a fence between them and the house.

The phone rang. Taylor jumped out of her chair, startled by the sound. Her heart beat a harsh percussion and she reached out with her senses, but the Force didn't warn her of any immediate threats. The phone continued to ring until the answering machine clicked on.

"_HI, YOU'VE REACHED THE SHCAEFERS. PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AND HAVE A BLESSED DAY."_

_DING. _"_Miss Hebert, please pick up_." Feminine voice, deep and powerful. A beautiful contralto. Not Dragon. "_We do not want your situation to get worse. For all our sakes, please pick up and we can find a solution."_

Taylor snorted. "Yeah, the Birdcage. Some solution that is."

She trotted back up the stairs and looked out from the second window. Across the field filled with police and military cars, she could see a road lined with furrows of plowed snow, and beyond that a parking lot and what looked like a small store or something with business signs. More importantly, she saw cars in the parking lots, and a few trucks that looked like they were starting to move.

She went back down stairs and sank into the stream of power that seemed to course through the back of her mind. Ideas came to her from the ether—ideas on how to kill every man and woman out there. Other ideas on how to simply not be seen.

Definitely the latter. She concentrated on how unimportant she was; how unremarkable. Little better than a blank canvas. No different than the snow. She held onto that idea and pushed it out around her, just like she did with the energy that broke the foam. She had no idea if it would work, but at this point she felt she had little choice short of being the killer the real bad guys were trying to make her be.

She opened the back door, stepped into the bitter cold night, and closed it behind her. The colors of the lights beyond the back fence made the snow flash red and blue like a kaleidoscope. She stared at it—at the thick layer of snow that Brockton Bay rarely saw. It was even worse walking in. Each step sounded like a bag of cornflakes being crushed, and she couldn't help but wince in anticipation of a dozen guns going off in her direction.

No one seemed to care. She reached out with her senses, even as she continued to project how unnoticeable she was, and felt apprehension and fear, but also boredom. Many of the men and women around her were simply irritated at being pulled out of their homes on such a cold night, while a few were excited at the idea of seeing Narwhal, who was supposedly on her way to take care of the murdering little bitch cape they'd surrounded.

Narwhal, a super hero who could cut people in half with her forcefields. Considered one of the ten strongest and deadliest capes in North America. Who was Canadian, and so wouldn't have to worry about American media coverage over murdering a fifteen-year-old girl.

Taylor swallowed in a dry throat and pulled the hood of her sweater down lower in an attempt to preserve feeling in her face and maybe keep the lingering water of her shower from freezing in her hair. She continued to crunch through the snow until she reached the back gate. She opened it slowly, fully aware of the line of heavily armed Air Force soldiers that formed a parameter literally within a foot of her. One of the men was smoking a cigarette. They didn't look at her, or notice the gate that opened and closed in her passage.

She continued walking, pausing only long enough to reach into the open door of a Humvee for the extra heavy coat that she saw in the passenger seat. It looked like the one she stole but stupidly left behind because it was hard to remember how cold it was for someone not accustomed to winters like this. The coat felt as warm as she could hope.

Ahead, she saw the road and the commerce building. The signs said GNC and Burger King. It was slow going, trudging through the knee-deep snow, but she didn't dare slow down. She knew with all the certainty that the Force could provide that if she made it there, somehow she would get away.

All around her, the snow began to fall again in a smothering blanket of white.


	4. Mouseketeer

Chap 3 review responses are on my forums. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Mouseketeer**

A loud horn brought Taylor awake with a startled squeak. She'd been dreaming of cities in the biting cold of space and monsters that left her heart beating with dread and terror. The horn at first sounded like one of the monsters as they consumed a planet. It was the second honk that woke her.

The tractor-trailer she climbed into back at Grand Forks pulled out within minutes of her arrival. Each second of those minutes felt like an eternity as she waited for the police or the Protectorate to find her. They didn't, though. The authorities must have believed she was still in the Schaefer's home.

Though cold, Taylor felt clean and full, and the steady vibration of the highway lulled her into a deep sleep. If not for the horn, she would still be deeply asleep. Opening her eyes seemed a Herculean task, and her whole face felt numb from the cold.

_Waste of fucking time._

Taylor tried to blink back sleep as the stray thought entered her mind. It wasn't her thought, but she was too sleepy to care. Whether it was from the lingering drugs or just exhaustion, her mind felt sluggish and heavy. She sat, stupefied, as the doors to the trailer opened and two police officers, silhouetted by dull sunlight, climbed in with flashlights. Both flashlights zoomed immediately to where she had curled up in a nest of paper towel boxes.

The two men stood frozen for the longest moment, while Taylor stared back in exhausted shock.

"Holy shit!" one of the officers said. He reached for the pistol on his side, while the other man turned and screamed, "SHE'S HERE!"

The sight of the man's gun broke Taylor out of her fugue state. Adrenaline washed away her fatigue and the sense of danger from the Force blasted away her hesitation. With a frightened shout, Taylor lashed out with her power. Boxes of napkins, toilet paper and paper towels shot toward the two policemen.

The armed one screamed and shot once into the roof of the trailer before both men were blown from the back of the truck. Taylor grabbed her back pack and followed on stiff legs.

She emerged enough to see a huge parking lot next to a travel center. A long line of trucks stretched out behind her, forming a great big circle around the entire lot, which was easily larger than a five or six football fields. On the ground before her, the cardboard boxes made it hard for the two officers to regain their footing.

Beyond them, a heavily bearded man sat staring at her with a gaping jaw from within the cab of the next truck down. _Is it her? Is it Hebert? Where are the damned capes?_

All around, urgent, angry thoughts stabbed at her mind. She could sense easily a dozen people coming up on either side of the truck, running toward her with their weapons drawn. If she didn't move, they'd have her trapped.

Move she did. Gathering the Force inside of her body, she pulled her backpack tightly on around her shoulders and rushed forward, leaping the six meters between the end of the trailer and the next truck without any problem.

"It's her!"

"Call the Protectorate!"

Verbal cries mixed with angry or frightened thoughts into an angry soup of mental noise. Taylor knew she was running out of time. She somersaulted from the hood of the cab onto the trailer behind it and ran as fast as she could. The cold air burned against her face as she accelerated faster than even she anticipated. She leaped to the next truck without missing a step and continued running.

The voices and thoughts were falling behind, but sirens were replacing them.

Suddenly, inexplicably, a large metal shield with an embossed silhouette of stylized mouse appeared directly in front of her face. She lost her footing right as the shield pushed forward, slamming into her chest and chin.

"Surprise, mother fucker!" a woman crowed.

Taylor's whole head rang with cathedral bells as she flew backward, actually airborne for a second or two before she rolled to a stop on the top of a motionless tractor trailer. Her chin burned and throbbed from the blow.

A figure that should have been ridiculous sauntered toward her. The grown woman in a tight-fitting red and brown leather suit wore actual mouse ears on her head. Her shield had a mouse silhouette on it, and her costume had a similar silhouette on her chest. Taylor knew she was looking at Mouse Protector, a cape known to ham it up with her opponents. Taylor had even liked the hero when she was younger.

Yet, as this figure walked calmly toward Taylor with an honest-to-God sword in one hand and a shield in another, with strategically placed red metal plates of armor over her legs, arms and chest, suddenly Mouse Protector seemed a lot less ridiculous, and a lot more intimidating.

"You know, when Dragon reported you managed to sabotage the jet and escape, I was grateful," the hero said as if talking about a great book she'd read. "I started hopping right out here. Know why?"

The hero blinked out of existence, only to appear mid-step a foot from Taylor. Her swinging kick caught Taylor right in the stomach and sent the lighter girl flying off the trailer, over the cab, and only the cold, snow-dusted asphalt of the pavement. Taylor tried to draw a breath, but couldn't. A brief panic fluttered through her mind as she tried desperately to breathe through bruised, or possibly even cracked ribs.

Mouse Protector followed with a single leap that covered at least twenty feet, landing with barely a flex of her knees.

"Because Miss Militia was my friend," Mouse Protector continued as if she'd simply paused for a breath. Her exposed mouth held a feral, cruel smile. Even without being able to see her eyes through her yellow visor, even without the woman's words or thoughts, Taylor could tell this woman hated her. "Not just my friend. She was my sister. And you…fucking…killed her."

Taylor desperately grasped at the Force in the back of her head even as she struggled to breathe.

Another blink, and once again Mouse Protector was a foot away, mid-kick. This time Taylor rolled to the right, missing the powerful kick, and snapped both her own feet at Mouse Protector's planted ankle.

Somehow, instead of having her ankle broken, the cape lifted the planted foot and back-flipped clear like a professional gymnast.

"Good, I was hoping you would at least try."

Another blink. Taylor braced herself, but this time the kick came from behind, striking her mid-back and sending her skidding across the asphalt. Taylor couldn't help but cry out in pain as the agony in her ribs was now joined by agony in her back.

"Thing is, little bitch, no one is going to help you." The hero sauntered toward her again, swinging her hips almost as if dancing. "Oh, I heard about your terrible boo-hoo trigger. Guess what? All triggers suck. Every first-gen cape has a story just as bad. If that'd been the end of it, we'd be having a different conversation. But no, you had to go and kill one of the only real friends I had in this world. So, I'm going to kill you. And no one's going to care. No one's going to stop me. No one's…"

With a scream, Taylor surged to her feet, gripped the hateful cape in her power, and spun her at the end of a telekinetic tether as if she were doing a hammer throw. When she released her grip the infamous hero few away as fast as a bullet, slamming into and through the trailer where the fight started.

Taylor stumbled back to the ground, hurting and fighting back tears. Unfortunately, Mouse Protector blinked right back a second later with a spinning side-kick that sent Taylor sprawling and set her ears to ringing and her chin bleeding again.

The hero wiped blood from her chin. "Okay, I'll give you that one. That was a good move. But see, I've got you tagged. There's nowhere you can go that I can't find you now in an instant. There's nothing you can say or do to change what's going to happen. I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to get the bounty for your head, and I'm going to buy a bottle of single-malt and I'm going to toast your death to Militia's grave. Sound good?"

Taylor's whole body thrummed with pain. She was certain she had broken ribs. Her chin was split and bleeding, and her head rang with the hated voices of all those around her. Struggling to her knees, Taylor could see rings of police officers and spectators just standing around in the distance, waiting for her to die.

"Please!" Taylor cried. "Please just leave me alone."

"Like you left Militia alone?" She swung her sword as if testing the weight of it. "I'm not just going to kill you quick, though. No, I'm going to split your belly so you can hold your own guts in your hands. Saw that in a movie once. I've always wanted to try it. And guess what? Escaped Birdcage convicts can be killed without legal repercussion. So, it's all good. Funny thing is, PRT had you classified as a threat. But you're not are you? Doesn't matter how much power you have, if inside all you are is a weak, stupid little girl."

It could have been Sophia talking. Or Emma. Or any of the other girls who tortured her at Winslow. They were right, she realized. She was weak. She was…

_You are more,_ _Sister. See. Know. Be._

Taylor couldn't have said whether it was a vision, a memory, or just a fevered dream on the cusp of her death. It felt as if her mind tingled as the Force exploded outward from the base of her skull throughout her entire body. She didn't gasp weakly at it like before, but rather the power of it spilled into her so powerfully it hurt.

She saw a girl, beautiful but alien. Tall, light and pale like chalk. A braid hung from her bald, tattooed head. She crouched low, two glowing, silver swords in her hand. Facing her was a creature equally feminine—beautiful in a way Greg Veder from school might have envisioned as dark and evil. Crimson red skin, twin tails of flesh protruding from the back of her head instead of hair. A heaving bosom showed to all the world that the red skin was natural. She didn't wield swords, though. She wielded lasers from her bare hands, just like Legend.

_She blurred faster than light, even as she shot beams of light at the chalk-white girl with the huge, gleaming blue eyes. Her blades blocked the lasers the red-skinned woman with the head tails shot. More importantly, somehow the girl just seemed to know where to be, no matter how fast the red-skinned cape was. _

Abruptly the vision/memory ceased. Taylor fell back against the cold asphalt, gasping. A few feet away, Mouse Protector also stumbled.

"What the actual fuck?" the hero shouted, spitting blood from the one good blow Taylor landed. "Chevalier said you were already a double trigger. What the fuck was that?"

Painfully, Taylor climbed to her feet. Even as she stood, she could feel the Force washing away her minor aches and begin healing her major ills. Somehow, she knew she needed a trance to completely heal, but she had strength left for this.

"Right," Mouse Protector said. "Enough playing with my food."

With preternatural agility and skill, Mouse Protector blurred forward not with a wild swing, but with a powerful, perfectly controlled thrust of her blade right toward Taylor's stomach.

Taylor simply surrendered to the feeling in the back of her mind. It wasn't so much that she knew consciously what Mouse Protector was about to do. Rather, the Force did. And with its power flooding her veins, her body did as well. She spun along-side the blade, so close she could feel it cutting through her stolen hoody. Her movements felt both intentional and passive as the Force guided her in her desire. She completed the tight spin with an elbow not to Mouse Protector's helmet-covered head, but her neck. In the same motion, she kicked down on the cape's right knee.

The elbow landed, the kick did not. Once again Mouse Protector managed to jump away from the kick, rolling before blinking away. Taylor jumped into the air, borne aloft by the strange new command of her power, just as Mouse Protector appeared with a thrust that would have impaled her through the back.

She kicked both her feet down on the other cape's head before somersaulting to the asphalt. She immediately gripped Mouse Protector with her telekinesis and flung her up into the air in a high arc that ended with the cape's head slamming into the asphalt with a loud, horrific _crunch_.

Mouse Protector didn't get up. With a wave of her hand, Taylor summoned the cape's sword, then the sheath itself. In the Force, she could feel nothing from the hero. Stumbling, Taylor knelt down to check Mouse Protector's pulse.

She felt life from the cape through her power. However, she could also feel how terribly hurt the cape was. Her neck was broken. If she lived, it would be as a quadriplegic.

"Better hope Panacea can help you, you bitch," Taylor growled at her.

She stood tiredly and with a wave summoned her back pack. All around her, spectators and police simply stood watching. Taylor knew the police were not supposed to intercede in cape fights, but she wasn't sure she could dodge too many bullets. More importantly, she had no doubt more capes were coming. She had to get out of this town, wherever it was.

The Force told her she could fly, but not like Glory Girl back home, or Alexandria. It would take constant effort and concentration. She didn't see where that would help. But with that same bit of knowledge came another skill that would be much, much more practical.

Taylor started running toward the line of police and spectators. She didn't have any intention of hurting them, but beyond them she could see the buildings of a small city in the distance behind them. Her best chance of getting out was through the city.

The spectators began backing away. A few people shouted in alarm, but those shouts turned into open screams when suddenly Taylor accelerated so fast the cold wind whipped at her hair. The world narrowed to a tunnel around her, focusing only on those people and objects in her way, and suddenly they were behind as well as they scattered and let her through.

Everything narrowed into a tunnel that abruptly focused on an impossibly beautiful, alien woman who floated down from the sky a few hundred feet in front of her. The cape was tall, taller even than Taylor, with long, flowing white hair. A single violet crystal horn protruded from her forehead, while her otherwise perfectly proportioned body was covered by strategically placed crystalline scales that formed an enticing, revealing suit of armor. The crystalline scales formed a sharp, frightening claw out of her right hand. The Force screamed at Taylor about the danger she faced, as if she didn't already know. She slowed, allowing the world to come back into focus around her.

Narwhal looked beautiful. She stood like a Norse Valkyrie, or a goddess draped in violet crystals that shimmered beautifully in the weak morning sun's light. She landed with a graceful arc of her right foot and simply stood looking at Taylor, her arms hanging loose and ready at her sides.

There were tens of thousands of capes around the world that Taylor couldn't have named if her life depended on it. However, some capes were more memorable than others. Case in point was Narwhal, the woman who teamed with Dragon to rebuild a failed Canadian Guild into an organization mentioned in the same breath as the Protectorate and King's Men. If Taylor remembered her Parahumans Online Summary correctly, Narwhal created crystalline forcefields that she could project like bullets, or to shield herself. She could use them to even fly, as Taylor just saw.

Most importantly, she could create forcefields within a person's body, killing them instantly.

The brittle silence ended with Narwhal's voice. It sounded deep, strong and so utterly feminine it made Taylor blush. It was the same voice that called the Schaefer's.

_Please fight. Please fight. _"If you surrender peacefully, I won't hurt you." _Please fight._ _Give me a reason to hurt you._

The hero was so confident her words didn't sound arrogant, but rather she sounded like a mother giving her wayward child an ultimatum—behave or get spanked. The sheer absurdity of her situation ripped a sob from Taylor's throat.

"Can you promise the same for all the monsters in the Birdcage?"

_I hope they rip you to pieces. _"I can promise you that if you fight me, they'll have a lot easier time finishing you off than if you don't. Put Mouse Protector's sword down, get on your knees, and put your hands over your head."

She sounded as hard and cold as the crystals she used. Taylor could sense her thoughts. They envisioned a distorted, not-quite right image of a much older-looking Taylor screaming as an acid-based villain in the Birdcage melted her feet. The vision made Taylor wonder if Narwhal knew how young she really was.

Or if she cared.

Once again Taylor felt that sinking feeling of apathy, just like she felt on the jet. She pulled the sword from its sheath, and then slipped the sheath behind her back pack.

"If you want to see a fifteen-year-old girl dead, at least have the courage to do it yourself," Taylor said.

She started walking toward the cape.

Narwhal did not hesitate even a second. She flung out her hands and blasted the air with a cloud of razor-sharp crystalline forcefields that flew nearly as fast as bullets. The Force guided Taylor's body as she deflected some with the sword, while spinning and dodging those she did not shatter with what she now suspected was a Tinker-made sword. It felt too light, and was able to shatter the crystals too easily, to be anything else.

_She asked for it._

Narwhal's thought rang in Taylor's mind as the tall, statuesque cape launched herself in the air, bunching her legs up under body as she surrounded herself in a forcefield bubble, while at the same time blasting the air with hundreds of crystalline bullets.

Rather than try to dodge or deflect, Taylor attacked. With a flex of her legs and a blast of the Force, she launched herself right at Narwhal, avoiding the fusillade of projectiles. The tall cape's eyes widened comically as Taylor swung her sword mid-somersault over Narwhal's head, shattering the part of her horn that projected outside of her force bubble.

She landed on her feet, but rather than fight, Taylor pushed herself into a run toward the city. Behind her, Narwhal slammed into the asphalt with a heavy thud and an angry scream before launching herself back in the air.

As fast as Taylor could run, Narwhal flew faster. Her rage felt like a hot sun burning Taylor's neck, quickly gaining ground. Still sunk deeply within the Force, Taylor accepted its guidance and spun to one side as a long, micron-thick forcefield flat to the ground formed right where her stomach would have been.

That could have cut her torso in half.

Twice more Taylor dodged lethal forcefields, all the while intensely aware of how close the cape was. She'd held some small hope that maybe she could outrun Narwhal and escape into the city, but she realized now that the older cape was too fast and too powerful to simply run away from.

Visions of power percolated through her mind. She acted more from instincts that weren't even hers than from any conscious thought.

With Narwhal only meters behind, firing her crystal bullets and trying to bisect her with forcefields, Taylor suddenly stopped, spun, flung out both arms and screamed as the Force coalesced around her body in a massive cloud of blue lightning.

Narwhal had only a split second to be surprised as the crystal she had on her hand flew at Taylor, just as the Force-lightning blasted into her exposed face and chest. She flew backward in a wild, uncontrolled pinwheel and landed with a heavy, rolling thud twenty feet away.

Taylor felt her right leg tremble and fell to the ground, confused at first over why she fell. She looked down and saw her thigh muscle hanging open almost to the bone, like a slab of freshly carved meat ready for the grill. Blood began pouring out of it even as she stared.

A second later the pain hit. Taylor leaned over the leg and screamed in agony. In the distance, police cars quickly approached. Narwhal remained where she fell, her crystal scales conspicuously absent to reveal a tight skin-colored body-suit in her unconscious state, but that didn't help Taylor.

With shaking, blood-red hands Taylor began desperately digging in her bag until she found one of Stacy's old shirts. She wrapped the wound was best she could before using the Force to help herself stand. All around, the world wavered and darkened on the periphery of her vision as the blood rushed from her head.

"No," she hissed to herself. "NO!"

The highway was so close. Tanker trucks filled with North Dakota oil and refined gasoline went west, passing under an overpass only a few hundred yards away. Too hurt to walk, Taylor gathered the Force about herself and levitated just inches of the ground. While she could have run three times as fast healthy, levitating now was far faster than an agonizing limp.

Police barricades had stopped all traffic to the overpass, so she had no obstacles. More importantly, the police were terrified of her. While it was difficult to always take Mouse Protector seriously, Narwhal was considered to be almost a Triumvirate-level cape and Taylor beat her.

They backed off and let her fly just inches off the ground, grinding her teeth with the effort the constant concentration required of her. This was not what her power was meant for, but it was her only hope.

Once she reached the overpass, she looked for one of the oil tanker tricks with the largest rig, and simply dropped over the overpass onto it. The driver didn't stop, but she could feel him start to decelerate. It was a simple matter with the Force to lower herself over the side, unlock the passenger door, and climb in.

She found herself facing the muzzle of a very large handgun. "Get the fuck off my truck," a deep voice growled.

Taylor didn't hesitate, not even for a breath. She washed over his conscious thoughts until he lowered the gun and stepped on the gas.

"You'll forget I was in your cab," she said. "You'll keep driving until you reach your destination. You won't notice anything in your sleeper cab."

Dully, without looking from the road, the driver repeated everything she said.

Taylor climbed painfully back into the bearded driver's sleeper cab. It smelled awfully of cigarette smoke, alcohol and the stench of a large man who did not bathe regularly. She climbed into the bed anyway. She could feel blood soaking through her impromptu bandage, but was suddenly so exhausted even the idea of moving brought tears to her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the air before she passed out.

* * *

A/N: Those who read my fics solely for the sake of finding something to complain about might look at this chapter and snipe bitterly about how Taylor was abused.

Those who read it because they actually want a story might look at it and say to themselves "Holy shit. She beat Mouse Protector _and_ Narwhal."


	5. Westward Ho

A/N: Chap 4 review responses are in my forums as always. And now, brace yourself. And feel free to review my Chapter 2 warnings.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Westward Ho**

_Red sun. Blue leaves shimmer in the wind. "Are you ready, my sister?"_

Taylor's eyes snapped open. Her entire body hurt, but not with the sharp, agonizing immediacy that dragged her down into unconsciousness before. Instead, the pain felt like a dull, constant throb from all over. Stifling a moan, she reached up and wiped at her face. Her fingers broke the crystalized gunk of sleep from her eyes, but also broke the dried blood that covered the lower half of her chin. Underneath the blood, she felt just the barest hint of a scar.

When she fell unconscious, her chin was split wide open from Mouse Protector's shield.

She sat up from the stinky bed that occupied the majority of the sleeper cab. Outside was dark, but at this time of year it could have been anywhere from dinner time to midnight. Moving enough that the dull orange glow of a nearby streetlamp illuminated it, Taylor looked at her thigh.

The shirt she'd wrapped it in looked black with old, crusted blood. She winced as she undid it, but then stared in wonder at the thick cut underneath it. A hard scab had formed along the six-inch cut, thick enough as to be hard to the touch. It didn't look like a fresh cut, but something that had been healing for days.

She stood and winced, but even standing the pain was bearable. Stood up, she caught sight of her face in the mirror that the driver had installed over the cab. Pure-black eyes stared back from a face straight out of a horror movie. Her long, black curls hung lank and filthy about her shoulders, matted with blood. Her cheeks looked deathly pale next to the black, broken mass of dried blood on her chin and neck. She looked like a fucking vampire.

Though she wasn't interested in sucking anyone's blood, she was so hungry her stomach hurt.

A quick search through the truck's cab found several filthy-looking baseball caps and a cheap, plastic pair of sunglasses. The little mini fridge in the cab contained three beers and a water bottle. She found a roll of paper towels on top. She drank half the water with desperate need, but then used the rest to wet paper towels to clean her face, neck, and the skin around her leg.

Opening the door felt like climbing into a freezer. The cold air bit right through her hoody and sweats, causing her scar to ache where it was exposed through the bloody rent in her pants. She kept going anyway—as cold as it was, North Dakota felt worse.

She found herself in a huge parking lot framed by a berm of plowed snow. She could see streetlights illuminating trees all around, and she wondered where she could be that would have forests and, if she could make out the faint silhouettes behind the truck stop, mountains.

The scent of fried chicken made her stomach cramp painfully. She looked a mess, and had a sword hung through the straps of her back pack. Her stolen Air Force coat did a good job of hiding a lot of that, she knew, but it wouldn't work inside. She needed new clothes. She needed…

For a moment, the longing to be with her mom and dad stifled her breath and left her with tears in her eyes, bent over. When she was able to think, she clasped at the Force as it ran ever present through the back of her mind, and let its warmth fill not just her body, but her mind. The agonizing grief remained—she could still feel it hovering over every thought—but now it felt distant enough that she could embrace the loss without it dragging her down into despair.

With that, she started limping toward the truck stop.

Using her new senses to sweep the area, Taylor confirmed she was alone and tossed Mouse Protector's sword onto the roof of the place where she could easily retrieve it. She then took a deep breath to center herself and stepped into the store.

With her filthy hair hidden within an equally filthy ballcap, and her pure-black eyes hidden behind sunglasses, she looked odd but not striking. As eyes from all around the store latched onto her, the mental noise she received was mostly the impression she was a runaway.

_Wonder how much for a quickie 'round back._

Or a prostitute.

Only the smell of food dragged her further into the store. A quick search through the store found travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, soap, a tooth brush and paste, a brush for her hair, and…scissors. She stood eying the scissors for a long time, before she picked those up as well as bandages and wrapping for her leg.

The old, heavy-set woman at the check-out eyed Taylor with disdain. Her hair reeked of cigarette smoke and Taylor could see the contempt in the woman's eyes. In her eyes Taylor was nothing more than a tall, skinny girl trying to hide in a coat and sunglasses and while looking for another trick to turn.

"I need a shower," Taylor said.

"Go buy some diesel, then," the woman said.

"You want to let me take a shower."

The woman stared blankly before handing over a slip of paper with the security number to get into the shower. "I want to let you take a shower."

"You also want to quit smoking. It's bad for you and makes you smell bad."

"I also want to quit smoking. I smell bad."

With a nod, Taylor took the slip and wandered to the back of the large complex, going through slightly run-down hallways until she reached the women's showers. She tried not to notice several men in the seating area of the restaurant with similar slips of paper, waiting for a men's shower to open up.

There didn't seem to be that many female truckdrivers. Which meant fewer women's showers and no wait. Her slip let her into a cramped but workable single-person bathroom with a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall. She was relieved to see a mat, towel and washcloth, mainly because she'd complete forgotten them. More importantly, due to the beginning of the cramp in her abdomen, she was relieved to see a pad dispenser.

For all her fears about a dingy, moldy mess, the shower was in fact cleaner than what she used back in Brockton Bay, with better water pressure and more hot water. She took her time, washing the blood not just off her leg, but also her neck from where she split her chin (now healed), and several other spots where she must have bled during her two fights but not realized it over the primary pain in her leg.

The water ran in a constant stream of red down the drain.

Out of the shower and dried, she wrapped her thigh in the bandage and pulled on the spare jeans she stole from the Schaefer's. Bare chested in the warm, humid shower, she stared at her face and hair in the mirror. Her hair hung down limply against her sickly pale skin. As skinny and underdeveloped as she was, with her too-large mouth and gawky big eyes, her long black locks were the one thing she felt about herself that was beautiful. She remembered her mother's hair was the same—long, flowing with a large, natural curls that became kinks when wet or if the air was too moist.

It was one of her most distinctive features. Well, besides her freakish, inhuman black eyes. She couldn't do anything about her eyes, but…

The first length of hair came off with terrible ease, leaving a gap on one side. She kept cutting, and with each snip it became somehow easier, as if each strand of hair had been a weight holding her back. By the time she finished, her hair was not even shoulder-length. It looked terrible, but it also changed her entire appearance.

She ran a hand along the length of her neck. With her hair cut shorter, her neck appeared longer than she remembered.

She finished dressing and left the shower with her bag over one shoulder, looking for food. Her sunglasses attracted a few odd looks, but her power calmed any who would have otherwise questioned it. She settled into the fast food section of the place and ordered a meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, with a large soda and an extra side of macaroni and cheese.

After the food was gone, she settled back on the molded plastic bench and considered her options. During her perusal of the store, she'd discovered she was in a town called North Bend which was just a few miles east of Seattle.

All Taylor knew about Seattle was what she learned in World Affairs. She knew Leviathan struck the city in 2003, eight years before. She thought of it because she needed a place to disappear to. According to a documentary she watched online, cities recovering from Endbringers, even eight years ago, were perfect places to get lost in. She just had to find a way to get there that didn't involve killing or fucking anyone. As desperate as she was, Taylor wasn't _that_ desperate.

She doubted she ever would be.

Dressed in her spare clothes that she'd stolen from the Schaefer's with her shorter hair hidden by a ball cap and her eyes behind sunglasses, Taylor left the store to fetch her sword and perhaps find a place to stay for the night.

She was intensely aware of the burly, bearded man who walked out almost on her heals. She couldn't fetch her sword with him so close, and she couldn't just knock him out without letting the Protectorate know right where she was.

Then he spoke to her.

"Hey, sweetie, you lost? Looking for some place to go?"

He had a slight accent that she couldn't quite place. She could feel him staring intently at her, and as she turned she sensed his intent as he appraised her body like a piece of meat.

Her first thought was to do what she'd always been taught in school—in a world with the Slaughter House Nine and capes that could master you at a glance, stranger danger was a real thing.

But after a moment she remembered that _she_ was the danger. She was a cape, and a powerful one at that. She could master him if she had to. So, instead of running away or going back inside in the hopes of losing him, she turned and met his gaze. She even forced a smile.

"Looking for a ride to Seattle," she said.

"Really?" Again the odd accent. She couldn't quite place it. "Heading that way myself. I might be able to give you a ride."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

The man grinned, revealing stained teeth. "Well, we might make it a business transaction. I bet if we put our heads together, we might be able to think of something you had to trade. Either an item or a service."

As they spoke, Taylor skimmed the surface of his mind and fought back a wave of revulsion. He'd stripped her in his thoughts. Moreover, his imagination was frighteningly accurate, like a judge in a dog show who just had so much experience he could see at a glance what she might look like under her clothes.

_Not much tits, but good legs. Chinks love 'em pale and skinny. Glad I made the call._

Taylor didn't understand what he meant by that last. But his intent was clear, and she realized that somehow, he meant her harm. With that moral threshold met in her mind, she raised a hand to deal with him.

Before she could speak, she felt a jarring rupture in the Force. She turned, confused and disoriented from the rupture in the Force, but caught only the faintest hint of orange light before something slammed into her like a brick, pushing her into darkness accompanied by the ringing of her skull.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The sound of angry Spanish woke Taylor.

She didn't jump up or open her eyes, though. She remembered almost immediately upon waking the man with the odd accent who followed her out of the truck stop, and the flash or orange light. It wasn't an accident, he'd targeted her for some reason. Wherever she was, she was a captive.

So instead of jumping to her feet and lashing out blindly, Taylor squeezed her eyes shut and just breathed.

_Sea salt._ The scent was as unmistakable to a Brockton Bay girl as coffee milk or Johnny cakes. The slight taint of rot and salt in the air told her they were near or even on the ocean. The smell of old oil made her think industrial. Only then, with the smell as a guide, did she feel the faintest motion on the steel shelf under her. They were on a boat.

The steel was cold, and she was _naked._

Her cheeks burned and a deep pool of rage and shame ignited in her stomach. Someone had stripped her; had seen her and touched her naked body with ill intent. Had they done more? She was on her period, but would something like that stop whoever captured her? She didn't feel any different. _What was it supposed to feel like after something like that?_

Panic began to mount, overwhelming the shame and anger. Finally, though, she forced her ranging thoughts to calm. She didn't have any real discomfort from her privates, so realized the odds that she'd already been violated were low. More importantly, panicking about it would do absolutely nothing.

_Stop acting like stupid old Taylor, damn it! You're a cape now. You have power. Use it._

Taylor chose not to consider the fact that the voice in her head now sounded like Emma. Regardless, she reached out with her senses, just like she did on Dragon's plane. The most immediate presence she could feel was another girl her own age, throbbing with pain, anger and shame even more intense than Taylor's. She was the one cursing in Spanish even as she wiped away her own tears.

Beyond the girl, though, Taylor could sense others. Like flashes of color on the back of her closed eyelids, her mind detected other youths nearby. They appeared to be held in separate metal cells, but there were a lot of them. Dozens, approaching if not more than a hundred. Some were her age, but most were younger. Nor were all of them girls, though most were.

Several of those closer to her age hurt just like the girl in her cage.

Taylor sat up. Just that movement brought her skin into contact with cold steel and set her to shivering.

"Hello?" She could hear the chatter of her own teeth with just that one word.

The Spanish cursing stopped. Taylor could hear a rustling—skin against steel. The presence got closer, until she felt bare, clammy skin against her own. More importantly, a rough but warm blanket found its way over her shoulders.

"They only give us one blanket," the girl said.

Her English was so accented Taylor had to depend as much on her thoughts as her words to derive meaning. What meaning she gleaned was pain, anguish, overwhelming sadness, and yet an urge to help those around her.

"Thank you," Taylor said as she accepted the small kindness. "What's your name?"

"Maria."

"I'm Taylor."

They said nothing for a moment. Under her blanket, Maria felt warm against Taylor as the two huddled against the cold steel.

"Maria, do you know who they are?"

"Fuckin' Russians," Maria snarled. Her rage felt like fire in Taylor's mind, uncontrollable and white-hot. She started cursing again in Spanish, but in her mind the words were meaningless. Just sounds to vent her rage and shame.

Taylor placed her arm around the girl's shoulders and simply held her as she cursed. If Maria cried, she did so while describing their captor's small dicks and the many diseases they got from their whore mothers and donkey fathers.

When the worst of the cursing storm abated again, Taylor risked another question. "Where are we?"

"Still in Seattle, I think," Maria said. She sniffed a little, but then cursed again. "Nabbed me when I was pickin' some shit up. That _pendejo_ Jorge fucking stood there and let 'em take me. _Joto_."

The darkness of the room shattered with the sound of rusted steel grinding against steel. Taylor blinked back against the light and saw a silhouette that looked kitted out in military-style fatigues pants and a heavy vest holding a slim, petite figure by the arm.

"Ah, good," the man said in horrible English. "This one all done. You come, no fight, we fuck you easy. This girl no fight, we fuck her easy. No hurts. You fight, and we hurt you. Give you to Tunguska. He likes 'em to bleed."

He shoved the naked newcomer into the room, then made a point of removing a heavy black baton. "You come easy, or you come hard, little _cýka_?"

For two long heartbeats, Taylor sat and stared at the silhouette of this man who told her he was about to rape her. Intellect and emotion could not unify sufficiently for her to truly understand what was happening. Intellectually she knew that, somehow, she'd been caught by human traffickers. Emotionally, though, it just seemed impossible.

When he took a threatening step in, the newcomer whimpered and scampered away, pressing herself flat against the steel wall to Taylor's left. It was that sound that broke her shock.

Slowly, Taylor stood, conscious of the cold steel grating that bit into the soles of her feet and the cold that made the hair on her arms and neck stand on end. She motioned for the tiny girl to come forward. The girl did so without a word, and let Taylor guide her under the blanket she just vacated. Only then did she turn to face the soldier.

For the first time since she was a baby and her dad changed her diaper, a man saw her naked. She knew the light from the hall outside illuminated her body, but also knew just from the fact she couldn't see the lights themselves that her face remained in shadow. Which meant he couldn't see her eyes.

He didn't know she was a cape.

"You want me to come get you, little _cýka?_ If I come get you, I'm shoving this up your _pi'zda_ so hard you'll taste it, then I give you to Tunguska. He fuck your ass. His _hooy_ big, split your ass open til you bleed. That what you want, little _cýka?"_

"Yes," she whispered.

She didn't know if it was the cold, the terror or the anticipation which made her shiver, but she knew that he could see it. That she had just enough breasts for him to see them move as she shivered, and it turned the fucker on.

"_Da!_" He took the two steps down into the room until she could just see the hint of his eyes and raised his baton to hit her.

She grabbed his neck in her power and slammed him against the wall right where the other girl had flattened herself seconds before. She felt rage burning in the pit of her stomach as the Russian's eyes bulged in shock and a lack of air.

A distant voice called from down the hall. "_Piter, ty v poryadke_?"

Taylor bored Piter's mind like a hammer, blasting away any resistance in a second. At her silent command, he answered. "_Da, prosto igrat' so shlyukhoy_!"

The comment was met with distant laughter but nothing else. When Taylor was sure no men were coming, she took a step closer to Piter.

"How many men are on this ship?" Taylor demanded.

"Eighty-five," Piter answered in a monotone.

"Are they soldiers?"

"_Da. _Chinese Union Imperialtrades American girls for guns and money. Big money."

That explained the man who stalked her at the gas station, Taylor realized. She could actually see it in Piter's mind. They sent recruiters out throughout the surrounding area looking for runaways or prostitutes, or traded with the local gangs, until they had enough girls to finance their trip back to the warring Russian states.

Piter's mind opened to her. She watched in his memories as he made love to his girlfriend, Annika. Their bodies moved in a sensual dance Taylor had often imagined but never visualized so thoroughly. Annika gave him a necklace and a searing kiss before he boarded the boat to go abduct little girls from America to sell as sex slaves to the Chinese Union Imperial. The Chinese slavers liked American girls.

He kissed his mother good bye. She said a prayer for him and told him not to fuck too many of the American whores or he might get a pox.

He hugged his brother and promised a whore for him when he was old enough. American girls liked big Russkiye dicks.

He looked down at their last capture as he stood in the door, the skinny girl with the bad haircut and the small tits. He didn't mind that they were small, not with her long legs. The scar looked bad on her thigh, but the rest of her looked svelte and sweet. She was beautiful in her own way. _Surely Tunguska wouldn't mind one fuck? How would he even know? _

Taylor broke the contact and stared down at the two speechless girls, huddled together under the blanket. With her face toward the light, Taylor saw that the newcomer was Japanese, probably not any older than Tayler herself.

"What's your name?"

"Yuki." The girl's voice emerged somewhere between a whisper and a breath.

"Yuki, did this man hurt you?"

"Not as…not as bad as Tunguska hurt Maria yesterday."

Maria began cursing in rapid-fire Spanish. Taylor, though, concentrated on what the tiny girl said. _This morning._ How long had they been here?

Taylor looked back to the soldier with his dull eyes. He was fully prepared to rape her right there in the cell, in front of the two other girls, then drag her out to the other men to share. It had been right in the forefront of his thoughts, watching how her breasts moved while she shivered.

He didn't think anything of it, as if somehow he was entitled to hurt her and do to her whatever he wanted, because she was a slave in his mind. Property. His girlfriend thought nothing of it. His own mother thought nothing of it. They were American whores. They deserved whatever happened. They were all nothing.

Nothing.

The sound of his neck snapping filled the room. Taylor watched with a numb feeling as he slid down to the floor in a boneless heap. Yuki made a faint squeal which she covered up with both hands.

Maria crossed herself with a whispered, "Holy fuck."

Taylor ignored them both for a moment to kneel down next to the body. With the hall illuminating his face, she was astonished at how young and even handsome Piter looked. He wore short-cropped blonde hair with a strong face. High cheekbones gave him an athletic look, relaxed now in death.

She grabbed the second baton he wore on his belt. With both weapons clutched in her hand, she then pulled the massive pistol from his belt. She had no idea how to use it, but she took it and shoved it toward the girls.

Yuki stared at it as if it might bite her, but Maria reached out without hesitation.

"You're a cape," Maria said.

"Yes."

"Are you a hero? Will you get us out of here?"

Yuki leaned forward, her hands clasped together in prayer between breasts that made Taylor look developed. Taylor met the girl's eyes, and there was just enough light in the room for Yuki to realize how black they were.

"I'm no hero. But I'll get you out of here."

Taylor closed her eyes and cast out her senses until she found the man who had called out to Piter. He sensed him in a room at the far end of the hallway watching television while rifling through the captured belongings of all their slaves.

Opening her eyes, he could see how terrified the two girls were. Not just of the soldiers around them, but Taylor herself. She told them she wasn't a hero.

"Let the other kids out, but keep them down here," she told the two urgently as she swallowed bile. She sounded hoarse and grim in her own ears, as if it were someone else speaking entirely. "There's at least a eighty-five soldiers on the boat and a few capes. If you guys run out there before I say, you'll all get shot. Do you understand?"

Both the other girls nodded as Taylor crept out of the cell, self-conscious in her nudity.

The plank that ran the length of the hall between the cells cut cruelly into her feet as she walked. The low ceiling made sure she couldn't just levitate, though. The cell doors were all angled out front the central passage, one after the other, fifteen on each side. It made for a very long walk toward a heavily armed man at the end of the room. She could hear him laugh at something on television. It sounded like a cartoon.

Her body was shaking now, despite her efforts to calm and warm herself with the Force. She knew, as surely as the sun would rise and that her father was dead, that she was about to kill a man in cold blood. _Another_ man in cold blood.

_I really am a murderer,_ she thought to herself as she finally came even with the guardroom door. Inside the room she found the man she sensed calmly and methodically going through all the clothes, backpacks and purses of all the kids they had captured.

He looked to be a heavy-set, older man with close-cropped white hair that stood on end, and a vicious scar on the left cheek which was closest to her.

"_Eto ty, Piter?"_ He spoke over his shoulder.

He stood up to his significant height when he didn't get an answer and turned to see Taylor's staring at him. She felt her cheeks burn as his eyes completely ignored her face, travelling up from her hips to her inconsiderable chest and only then to her face, where he saw a pair of pure black eyes staring back at him with such rage, the air around her head shimmered with the Force of it.

Only then, facing her anger and her power, did he realize the danger. In that second, however, he reacted with the honed instincts of a professional killer, ripping a pistol from his holster. He stopped when Taylor reached out a hand, grasped his neck in her power, and snapped his spinal cord from within.

Like Piter, this soldier dropped to the decking without a sound. She thought about saying something pithy, like those 80s muscle-bound action heroes her dad loved so much used to, but she didn't see the point. He was dead, and there was no audience watching.

Which, considering she was naked, she _really_ appreciated.

Taylor moved forward when she saw her backpack, stacked with dozens of others. A brief search found her clothes and she got dressed quickly. Though Jeff Schaefer's boots weren't a good fit, the relief of having socks and boots was enough to make them a godsend. As she was walking out she saw stacks of cash on the table, next to watches, smart phones and jewelry.

The phones were all probably locked, but she took the cash and put it in her backpack without hesitation. She was going to need it. She hefted her two stolen batons while strapping her back pack as tight over her shoulders as she could while still being able to move.

The soldier she killed had an assault rifle propped up against his desk, and wore two large pistols on his belt. There were other weapons around the room which she considered. She pulled both his pistols, and after a brief search some extra clips.

She stepped back out of the room to see Maria and Yuki outside the cell, keys in hand. Both were squatting near the entrance to their cell. The moment they saw Taylor, they started to dart back into relative safety, only to pause when they realized it was her.

More importantly, they saw she was now dressed in sweats and a hoody, with her backpack. Wordlessly, Taylor pointed to the room behind her, before motioning for all the other cells. Yuki covered herself with her arms and shivered, but Maria stood up straight, hoisted the pistol that her hand could barely hold, and nodded firmly.

With her intent understood, Taylor draped herself once more in the Force, projecting out the idea that she was unimportant and unnoticeable. Only then did she start up the steep metal stairs to a higher deck. Then a higher one after that. She let herself be guided by her goal and the Force, knowing without a doubt that the slightest mistake would lead not just to her death, but the deaths of the hundred kids behind her.

* * *

A/N: There are some things that I will never depict in my writing. However, in my mind not only was this situation inevitable, but almost unavoidable. Even today, sex traffickers specifically target girls in Taylor's circumstances. The difference between the horrors of this world and Wildbows is that they didn't capture a slave, they captured a fucking _Rancor_ about to go on a rampage.

And for the record, I'm using canon characters from a RPG thingy that Wildbow created. I'm not as familiar with it, so all canon characters in the Seattle area may be AU or OOC from this point out.


	6. Do You Want Some Bratva With That?

A/N: Chap 4 review responses are in my forums as normal. Also, please note that my depiction of the Saltykovkoya Bratva in this chapter is based almost exclusively on the Wiki entry. I never read Wildbow's PRT Quest because, to be honest, I just don't like quest style stories. So if you see anything patently off or wrong about my depiction of the capes or the powers, please consider it AU. Any Russian dialogue is courtesy Google Translates, which means it's probably wrong. I had a couple of Russian speakers pipe in about it last chapter, but given it's the middle of the night there and I don't have a chance to check comments each week until I'm posting, it's a little late to fix here. Just accept that that Google Translates isn't very good at actually translating, but it's a hell of a lot better than I am. -DM

* * *

**Chapter Six: Do You Want Some Bratva with That?**

Taylor's dad loved Chuck Norris movies. Anytime _The Octagon_ or _Forced Vengeance,_ or any other of Norris's old movies came on TV, he'd watch it over mom's literate howls of despair. Norris's career didn't make it past the late eighties, any more than Stallone's or Schwarzenegger's acting careers. Muscle-bound strong men or martial artists couldn't compare to the real-life battles of the fast-emerging capes in the world.

For a good five or six years, though, Hollywood produced movies that were essentially variations on a theme that Daniel Hebert adored. Right before each choreographed sequence of numbing violence, Dad would grab Taylor's arm and say, "Watch this! Watch this!"

Taylor didn't particularly like the movies, but Mom positively hated them and gladly threw her only daughter at her father as sacrifice for a few hours of quiet reading time. What always struck Taylor about the movies was how cold the heroes looked while murdering the bad guys. Dad saw it as right versus wrong; of righteousness overcoming villainy. Even as a kid, Taylor just saw one man killing many with a cold, sometimes smug expression.

As she quickly killed her fourth man of the day, snapping his neck from behind, she wondered if her face bore the same expression as those 80's action stars her dad loved so much.

She stripped the man of his pistol. From Piter's mind she had a gross understanding of how to cock and fire the weapon, and how to put in new clips. Just like Piter, Gregor and the third man she killed, this one carried a large pistol and three extra clips. She slipped his pistol behind her belt and put the extra clips into her stolen tactical vest.

She reached the deck of the ship. It was longer than she'd realized, with an island that rose another four levels above the deck. She could see a group of five men at the fore of the deck, standing around smoking cigarettes. She couldn't see the back section, other than the hint of what looked like a helo pad.

She didn't explode into motion, since that implied a violence of movement. Rather, she went from utter stillness to a run with a smooth conservation of energy that left her almost invisible to the naked eye. The five smoking men did not see her at all; not until she was in their midst.

As much as she wanted to strike you with foot and fist, she couldn't afford to leave the men able to strike back. Instead, she struck with the Force, using her hands and feet to guide telekinetic blows as naturally as if she'd been training her entire life. It felt instinctive—frighteningly so.

The first man's head dislocated from his spine; an internal decapitation. A second started to say something before a blow caved in his chest and sent him flying over the side of the ship. He did not splash into water, but rather she could the barest _thud,_ as if he struck cement or packed dirt.

The third was reaching for his pistol when she whipped her foot around. The blow snapped his head to his shoulder, breaking his spine and sending him in an uncontrolled cartwheel. The fourth managed to pull his gun and fired off a shot.

The report of it momentarily shocked Taylor with just how loud it was. That gave the fifth time to turn and shout a warning.

The fourth tried to shoot her again, but she moved too fast. A telekinetic blow snapped his wrist, causing him to drop the gun. She caught it an inch from his hand, shoved the barrel into his ribs under his extended arm and fired three times in quick succession. The report of the weapon seemed somehow even louder when _she_ was the one firing it. The kick of the weapon felt like someone slapping her hand with the back of a hammer.

He didn't even reach the deck before she had the gun to the forehead of the fifth soldier.

"_Please,_" he begged. He looked young.

Her eyes stung. "Too late." She pulled the trigger and watched as his head snapped backward, taking his body with it until he flopped to the deck, utterly still.

Abruptly the Force surged through her like a jolt of adrenaline. She found herself back-flipping away just as the deck where she just stood erupted in a shower of sparks. The air roared with the numbingly loud buzz saw sound of a huge cannon.

She came to her feet and rolled forward again as the gunner tried to secure her position in his sites. He stood on what looked like a small balcony just under the windows of the ship's bridge, and the weapon he wielded was the size of Taylor's torso. It spit out a stream of bullets so fast the sound of it wasn't a thumping, like a machine gun, but rather like a chainsaw.

It had a similar effect on the deck behind her as a chainsaw would have on wood.

Harnessing the Force like she would a giant slingshot, she blasted herself into the air right toward the cannon and its wielder. She moved so fast the gunner couldn't bring the weapon to bear on her faster than she could swing her stolen pistol into line and squeeze off a single bullet. She didn't consciously aim, and more than she'd consciously harnessed the Force to kill those men before. The Force moved within her, and she surrendered to it.

He looked surprised when the bullet punched through his forehead and left a crater in the back of his head.

Taylor gripped the edge of the balcony, letting the first stolen gun fall. She could hear and sense more men just inside as she quickly scrambled over the barrier onto the balcony. She spun the cannon around on its mount and began firing on the tower itself, angling the bullets so that they punched up through the floor at the men in the bridge. The sound of it felt like people punching her ears, but she didn't care.

She couldn't hear anything over the cannon, but she could feel their pain as she fired until abruptly the slightly glowing, spinning barrels of the cannon ceased producing bullets. The hole she'd punched through was easily large enough and she jumped up and through it, pulling the first of her two remaining stolen pistols.

It felt like it was the gun guiding her hand, rather than her hand and mind guiding the gun. The four soldiers huddled in the back of the bridge, struggling to find shelter from the cannon fire. They clutched assault rifles in their hands as they crouched down.

In less time than it took to say her name, Taylor had four shots fired. _BANG BANG BANG BANG._ Each bullet honed in with a terrible accuracy she would never have imagined at any other time in her life, and each man's head snapped back as she killed him.

Again, her arm moved seemingly of its own accord as she surrendered herself completely to the Force. When the soldier rushed through the narrow hatch onto the bridge, two shots met him—one in the forehead, one in the chest. She pulled the pistol from his hands with her power and dropped her own in time to fire a shot at the edge of the door that ricocheted into the hallway.

"_Fuck!"_

The man hiding just inside screamed as the ricochet struck him. That gave her the time she needed to turn the corner, shove her pistol into the wounded man's eye-socket and paint the hull behind him in red and gray with the reflexive pull of a single finger.

Coming up the narrow stairs, she saw six men in what looked like camouflaged armor and assault rifles.

She didn't bother with her pistol. She moved to the head of the stairs, where the lead soldier could see her with wide eyes. She thrust out her left arm and filled narrow space with so much blue Force lightning it saturated the air itself. The men's screams were lost in the roar of the energy she poured into them.

When she stopped, six dead bodies collapsed down at the foot of the stairs, blocking it effectively. She drifted back into the bridge just in time to see a streak of smoke searing through the air right at her. She didn't have time to do anything other than duck back into the hall beside the man she shot through the eye.

The explosion made the wall she hid behind thrum like the head of a drum. Despite covering her ears and head in her arms, the concussive force of the explosion left her ears ringing and pushed to her to her knees. Through the Force, though, she could sense more men rushing up the stairs toward her over their fallen comrades.

The surge of adrenaline shot through her veins again, warning her of more danger. This time, she did explode into motion, placing a foot against the metal wall at the back of the stairwell to kick herself through the shattered bridge. She dove through the massive hole where windows used to be just as another RPG flew in behind her.

For a startlingly long moment, Taylor hung alone in open air, easily twenty-five feet above the deck. The soldier with the RPG launcher on his shoulder stared up, slack jawed, as she flipped mid-air and came down feet-first on his head.

His shoulders snapped as she used his malleable flesh to soften her landing and flip free. He collapses screaming to the deck.

Suddenly a new figure appeared out of the air right in front of her. Obviously a cape, the woman wore a heavy mantle and hood decorated with blade-tipped feathers along the hem, and a wickedly sharp beaked half-mask. Long, luxurious black hair flowed around her shoulders. Taylor caught all this in a single, gestalt glance right before the air around the Russian cape exploded in a ring of familiar orange light.

It was the same shade of light she saw right before she was captured. This time, however, she was ready. Taylor somersaulted over the ring of energy and fired the pistol in her hand mid-jump.

The cape proved prepared as well and disappeared with a pop and another burst of energy that forced Taylor to move again. She sensed more capes running down the stairs from the top of the ship's island even as she rolled under the second orange energy blast toward her attacker.

Once more the Russian cape teleported away, this time emerging near the island next to a hulking, heavily armored man who looked more like a walking destroyer than a man. Three diagonal yellow stripes ran across his right arm, chest and left leg.

From the other side of the island, three more capes emerged. One was a gnarled, twisted figure of muscle and bone who didn't bother with a mask, but who did bother with a shotgun. The other wore riot gear almost like a PRT agent, but with a steel mask with a red star on the forehead. The third cape was another woman clad in a dark crimson body suit with the sickle and star of the old Soviet Union over her left breast, and a small half-cape that hung down to the small of her back.

Behind the capes, Taylor could sense even more soldiers gathering, but it was the parahumans who presented the greatest threat. And of the five, the man with the star mask felt the most dangerous in the Force.

"This was the little one from the east of town," the woman in the bird mask said. She spoke in heavily accented English.

"She's good for a fight, _ja_?" That was the destroyer. "She no tits, but good legs. I was going to fuck her good, get her ready for the brothels."

"The Chinese comrades do like the pale, skinny ones," the cape in the starred mask said. "She might even be willing to cooperate."

Taylor felt something foreign and slimy thrust into her mind—a powerful, alien intent that pierced through the veil of her own thoughts and feelings with sickening ease. She had no words to describe the violence of it because it was a violence she'd never encountered or even dreamed possible. She felt the alien intent trying to crush her emotions and thoughts into a paste, leaving only the desire to do what she was told.

She didn't think it was the same type of telepathy she had—he couldn't have sensed her thoughts or emotions even if he wanted to. He didn't. All she was to him was another American whore. Her value was measured in the number of men who could fuck her before she got a disease and died.

She was nothing. Her only hope for happiness was to do what _he_ wanted.

But what he wanted _infuriated her._ Rage and hatred burned in the back of her mind, fueled by the Force and the utter shit of her past week. She grasped that fire with metaphorical hands and began burning that alien, intrusive tentacle of thought and desire. It tried to withdrawal, but in her rage victory wasn't enough.

She wanted this bastard to suffer.

"You take all the fun out of fighting, Saltykovskava," Tunguska whined.

"Maybe not," Saltykovskaya said through gritted teeth. "The little _piz'da_ is fighting me."

The woman in the bird mask stared from Taylor to Saltykovskaya. "_Ty che, blyad?_ No one can resist your power!

"She is! Do something, you fools! She's hurting me!"

The fire of Taylor's rage caught hold of the intruding mind and sent pain and destruction down it's invisible length. She lashed out with a furious scream, taking the man's faltering power and twisting it herself. Saltykovskaya screamed and clutched his head with both hands before crumpling to the deck of the ship.

"Igor!"

Beak girl teleported, growling with her own anger. Taylor rolled from her position on the deck, spun, and snapped off a single shot of her pistol at the empty air, guided solely by the Force. Beak girl appeared exactly as the bullet struck her shoulder. She spun and stumbled back with a startled cry, but by then Taylor was already running toward her to get a second shot off.

A warning in the back of her mind led her to jump up as razor-wire shot through the area where she would have been if she hadn't moved. She landed in a roll behind the beak woman, gripped the semi-conscious cape with her telekinesis, and held her up as a living shield against more of the razor wire.

Beak screamed in pain, while the cape shooting the razer-wire from her hands cursed. Taylor jumped over the Beak while maintaining her grip, and used both the Force and her own momentum to launch Beak Girl into Razorwire, just like she launched Mouse Protector. The other cape had only a moment to scream before Beak struck her and both went flying back into the wall of the ship's island with bone-crushing Force.

The two remaining capes rushed Taylor—the destroyer with a ball of explosive energy between his hands and the gnarled man with his shotguns.

Lightning lashed out and sent the gnarled man stumbling away. It did nothing to the destroyer other than make him stumble. A brute, maybe?

The huge man launched his own attack. Taylor tensed and fired off the rest of her clip, but like her lightning, the bullets bounced off him. The crackling ball of energy the huge man shot at her buzzed with power as it flew toward her in what proved to be an astonishingly _slow_ attack. The ball of brisling energy cruised along at about the speed of a reasonably fast walker.

The gnarled man recovered from her attack, found his shotgun, and fired again. His aim was wide, but Taylor doubted his next shot would be. She launching herself into the air, somersaulting over the bizarrely slow energy attack and the cape who launched it. She landed, gripped the gnarled man with her power, and threw him directly into the ball of energy.

The destroyer-man's energy attack might have moved slowly, but it held a terrifying amount of destructive energy. It didn't just vaporize the gnarled man, it took a huge portion of the prow of the boat with it in a massive bloom of bright white light.

Taylor had only a second to catch her breath and shield herself with Force energy before the concussive shockwave struck her and sent her stumbling back over the two female capes she'd taken out earlier. The whole boat rocked violently, sending waves splashing through the channel.

Th destroyer knelt down and leaned forward, riding the blast through sheer brute power, the same way he tanked both her bullets and her lightning. He stood when it was done, wiped ash from his uniform, and started marching toward where Taylor landed.

"_Koschei, are you back yet?"_

"_Ja. I am."_

From where she lay on the two unconscious female capes, Taylor couldn't help but stare in shock as the gnarled man who just blew up walked down the stairs from the upper island. He looked even more gnarled and twisted than before, moving with a slight limp, and yet he had no sign of any burns. He was just bigger and filled with more twisted muscle mass.

He carried a new shotgun.

"I am going to fuck that whore in her ass until she bleeds," Koschei said in heavily accented English. He brandished his shotgun. "And then I'm going to stick this in her cunt and pull the trigger. Maybe I do it at the same time, _ja_?"

"Mission's fucked," destroyer said. "They won't be happy."

"Fuck 'em," Koschei said. "I told the men to go get rid of the meat."

From under the ship, Taylor could hear kids screaming as the Russian soldiers moved to secure them. Destroyer and Koschei walked side-by-side toward Taylor, talking in rapid-fire Russian as if about the weather, or a popular television show, until the two paused at Taylor's feet.

"Stupid little girl," Destroyer said with a huge, bellowing laugh. "I am Tunguska. Bullets do nothing to me. And this is Koschai the Deathless. You cannot kill him, but he can kill you."

"And I will," Koschei said. "Slowly, and painfully. I will take weeks to…_urgh."_

After fighting off the alien intrusion in her mind, reaching into his brain was almost ridiculously easy. Taylor let her right hand drop as Koschei the Deathless stumbled backward and flopped to the deck in a spread-eagle position, his jaw hanging open to allow drool to fall.

Tunguska turned and glared through his heavy mask. "What did you do?" he bellowed.

"Think he'll enjoy being Deathless with a frontal lobotomy?" Taylor whispered in a voice made hoarse by rage and exhaustion.

The huge cape screamed and rushed forward, only to stop and grasp at his neck.

Taylor pushed herself back to her feet even as she held out her right hand to grasp the giant in her power. She could feel tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

"I've never killed anyone in cold blood before," she said as a tear ran down her cheeks. "Never wanted to. Until you fuckers kidnapped me. You turned me into a killer. Congratulations, asshole. You managed to make my shitty life even worse. Think about that in hell."

It was hard. Something about Tunguska resisted her power, but she pressed in more and more. He screamed at her in Russian as she squeezed so hard that steel would have bent. Still he shouted at her, grasping at his neck, until finally his power gave before hers did. The sound of his neck snapping reverberated almost like a gunshot. His body fell to the deck with a heavy thump beside the drooling, insensate Koschei.

She could sense that the two women capes were still alive, but so badly injured neither presented a threat. She left them and started toward the stairs of the ship, where the soldiers were beating the captured children and teenagers back into their cells. More soldiers were in the island tower. She could feel the engines of the ship turn on, readying to depart.

Abruptly, everything _changed._

_She found herself floating in the sea of stars, watching as two massive, scintillating entities approached her world. _

Just as quickly as it came, the vision ended with a meaty thud striking the hollow of her left shoulder. The odd thing was that it didn't hurt at first. It felt like someone punched her, hard. But nothing like what she imagined a bullet wound should feel like. At least for the first second. Then the pain struck, radiating out from the wound in a wave of agony that stole her breath and sent her stumbling to the deck of the ship with an anguished cry.

She could hear men shouting, and bullets pinged off the deck in a shower of sparks all around her. They were coming, closer and closer. They would land a hit on her again, it was only a matter of time. The Force directed her teary eyes toward one of the men she'd already killed—a heap of ballistic armor and weapons.

Though she'd never seen one before in real life, thanks to Arnold Schwarzenegger she knew a grenade belt when she saw one. With a thought and a flex of will, the grenades lost their pins and then flew right over her head toward the line of approaching soldiers. In the darkness, they didn't see the threat until it was too late.

Six shockingly loud POPS echoed across the deck of the ship, and the decking thudded painfully under her with each explosion. The grenades went off sometimes only inches from the line of soldiers that were coming for her. Only a few were able to scream, but none of that particular group were able to continue attacking.

Getting up was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Her left arm hung limply at her side. With her right, she pulled her last remaining pistol and approached the handful of soldiers not killed by the grenades.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._ She fired until the gun's slide locked. Guided by the Force, each bullet found their mark. Rather than try to reload with her wounded arm, she dropped the empty weapon and just summoned another to replace it.

Adrenaline briefly overcame her agony in a familiar sensation. She turned to see a man struggling to reload the cannon, while others manned the severely damaged bridge. The deck thrummed with the engines while below she could sense terrified children screaming.

She didn't reach out with her hand. She simply stood and stared at the island as her pain and rage boiled in the Force. She directed that massive energy at the tower itself. At first nothing happened visually, but the entire ship throbbed with vibrations and the groaning of metal. Taylor could hear men shouting in alarm from within the island. The man on the cannon stumbled in his efforts to reload the huge weapon.

Abruptly the top deck of the castle imploded with a shower of shattered glass, twisted metal, and terrified screams. The man at the cannon pulped in a shower of blood. Doors opened on the deck below, only to close again as that deck imploded as well. Abruptly the entire castle collapsed inward like a giant wet clay model being crushed together between massive invisible hands. Wiring shorted out with showers of sparks and men screamed in pain. Small explosions riddled the structure as she crushed the superstructure entirely, and with a grunt at the effort tossed the whole sparking, twisted mass of metal onto the broken cement of the shattered cement that stretched out in an empty lot beside the ship.

Opposite, standing on the helopad she had only glimpsed at, four more soldiers stood frozen, their jaws hanging open in shock.

Taylor fired. _Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang._ Four shots from a pistol more than fifty feet away. Each shot found their mark with unerring accuracy, guided by the Force and her rage. Four men fell, each dead from the single head shot.

Blinking back tears, Taylor realized she was on her knees. The effort to stand made her sob and almost black out, but she did it anyway. Swaying, she walked back to the now open hatch that led to the lower decks of the ship. As she did so, a single soldier looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes from the middle of the steep stairs. He threw his rifle away as he backed from the stairs, both hands up.

"Surrender!" he said in a heavy accent. "Surrender!"

Taylor moved down the stairs, too tired for anger. She raised her gun and fired. His head snapped back as he died. His body slid like a broken Slinky down the stairs. She stumbled over him as she reached the stairs. Her left arm felt completely numb, now, though pain radiated all around it into her chest and stomach.

From the bodies in the gangplank, she knew the soldiers got all the kids back into their cells. She saw at last two naked bodies—a boy who looked her age, covered in so much blood she couldn't make out his features other than he had a Latino complexion, and a skinny, pale girl whose face appeared to be a mass of hamburger. The sight should have shocked or hurt or something, but the numbness in her arm seemed to have spread to her mind.

The kids did fight back, though. Just past the dead teens she saw two fallen soldiers, both collapsed in pools of blood and unmoving. She stepped over them without a second look. She continued until she reached the open door where the two girls she first met were.

Despite the numbness, exhaustion and the pain that seemed to be shooting down like little arrows though her body, the Force swirled around and within her. She could feel the doors of every cell; she could feel the pain, fear and anguish of those kids within. Though she could barely walk, with the Force she was powerful.

The door to Yuki and Maria's cell ripped open so hard the steel door imbedded itself in the adjoining wall. Inside, Yuki jumped and cried in alarm, and then disappeared not just from sight, but from Taylor's force senses. She was too tired to put for the effort to understand how or why, especially not when Yuki reappeared a second later, just as naked as before.

The tiny girl knelt down on the floor where a bloody, motionless Maria sprawled. As naked as Yuki, there was no cloth to hide the two red and black holes punched so violently through Maria's stomach and chest. Taylor could see the terrible bruises that disfigured her face and darkened the skin on her arms, legs and torso.

Somehow, Maria's chest continued to rise and fall with weak breaths.

"The soldiers came when you were out there. She wouldn't…she was so mad! She screamed at them and fired the gun. I didn't even know she knew how to use it. She fired and fired and screamed until she didn't have any more bullets, and they…they shot her!"

Taylor turned away from the girl she failed so terribly and looked down the hall. Across from their cell, another door slammed open, accompanied by a terrified squeal. Down the length of the gangplank, Taylor ripped the rest of the doors open.

"Your clothes are in the room at the front." She didn't shout, but with the Force ever child there heard her as clearly as if she were speaking into their ears.

She then stumbled back to the cell that held Yuki and Maria. Her collapse to the floor was less a graceful sitting and more a loss of control over her legs. She could feel blood running from her shoulder onto the wall behind her as she slid down.

"Oh." Yuki leaned forward in the dim light from the hall. "Oh, God! You're shot. You're shot, too! Are you going to die? I don't…I can't be alone again! Please be okay. Please!"

"Yuki," Taylor whispered.

"What? What can I do? Please, tell me…"

"Shut up and go get dressed."

"Oh. OH, yeah!"

Yuki disappeared at a run, her feet slapping painfully against the grate outside until the sound was lost in the scared cries and calls of all the other children. When she was gone, Taylor saw Maria looking at her. One eye was swollen shut, but the other was clear and brimming with tears.

With a wave of her good hand, she levitated Maria closer, until she laid right next to her. She found herself placing her good hand on the first of the bullet holes. Just like with Dragon's ship, she could feel everything in Maria's body with the Force. Pulling the bullet out was easy. What she did next, though, was anything but.

She didn't know if it was instinct or something else, but her vision narrowed as the entirety of her concentration and power distilled down to a fine point focused on the damage caused by the first bullet. Some unknowable time later, she let up, gasping desperately for air as she hovered on the verge of blacking out.

Though it hurt terribly, she moved to the second bullet, removing it just like she did. The healing was harder because she felt so weak and tired, but still the Force came. When she was done, she could feel that the girl would not die.

At least she managed to do one decent thing with her life.

It was the last thought she had before passing out.


	7. A Tough Nut to Crack

A/N: Chap 6 reviews are in my forums as normal. Thanks for reading.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: A Tough Nut to Crack**

Harold Simmons died four weeks before his 30th birthday.

It wasn't a tragic or heroic death. Quite the opposite, really. He didn't die fighting villains or defending anything from a threat. No, despite the horrid cliché of it, he died of a broken heart.

Harold was never a remarkable man. Pudgy from a sedentary lifestyle and lazy with the ease of a cushy state job, a wife who did most of the work maintaining their home and raising their two kids, and the utter contentment that came from having no aspirations beyond what he already had, Harold considered himself both successful and happy. He never bothered looking past the illusions of his personal security. It wasn't just the state of the world he ignored, but the threats much, much closer to home.

When the state auditors discovered almost three million in appropriations missing, they reached out to Harold's supervisor first. Harold was never consulted; they never asked to see his own meticulous records of the accounting he did for the agency. While he was neither fast nor perfect, Harold was at times distressingly honest.

The siphoning off of payments to a shell company that the state never actually received services from was authorized with Harold's computer credentials. When they finally confronted him, Harold tried to explain that he never made any such purchase orders and couldn't they check from which computer the changes were made?

Evidently not. He was fired, his pension forfeited, and promised that the state would be pressing criminal charges against him.

In a fugue of numb shock, Harold stumbled to his car and simply stared out the window of his sensible sedan, unable to comprehend what just happened. More by habit than will, he started the car and drove home. He needed to tell his wife what was happening, maybe she could give him some ideas as to how his credentials were stolen.

He pulled into an empty driveway, thinking perhaps that Lucy had gone shopping. His hands shook when he unlocked the door and walked into to an empty house.

Standing in the entry way, Harold had a clear view of the living room, dining room and kitchen in their modest, two story home. Nothing. The indentations in the carpet showed where their furniture used to be, but it was gone. The only thing he saw was an envelope on the counter in the kitchen.

He drifted to it like a moth to a bug zapper. It had his name on it. His hands shook when he opened it up to see a Divorce Petition. A little post-it note was attached.

_You're stupid, empty and blind. I don't know why I ever married you. I don't know why I stayed as long as I did. Enjoy your life in jail._

The message was in Lucy's handwriting, but he still couldn't believe she would write something like that. He gave her a good life! A nice house, beautiful if somewhat sedentary children and…and…this didn't make sense!

"It has to be a joke," he said aloud. "This can't be…"

The empty house told him otherwise. He just didn't…he couldn't…this wasn't…

"No." He didn't recognize his voice. His throat felt as if someone had coated it in sandpaper. Stumbling out of the kitchen, he repeated himself. "NO."

He ran up the stairs, winded from the brief exertion, and found their bedroom empty save their bed, and his personal toiletries and clothes. He drifted to the kids' rooms, but they were empty. He didn't understand how the entire house could have been emptied so quickly. He left at six that morning, and it wasn't even four yet.

Finally, he reached his office. Everything was as he left it last night. He collapsed into his faux leather office chair and checked the drawers of his desk. In the second drawer was the sheet with all of his passwords and codes for all the various computer systems he had to use—far too many for him to actually memorize.

There were his coin collection books.

There was…

Harold Simmons fell out of his chair.

"NO!"

He screamed the word as a hammer of emotion struck him so hard it ripped the air from his lungs. How could Lucy do this to him? He was a good husband! He was a good father! He was a good man, wasn't he? How could he miss the signs?

Stupid. _Empty_. **Blind**.

The world narrowed down into a dark tunnel, at the end of which he saw two…things that belied description. Then even that terrifying vision was gone.

When he woke up, Harold Simmons was dead. He pulled himself up and stared at his desk. The air seemed to shimmer until it coalesced with an echo of a shape he thought he knew—his Lucy. She stood nude and beautiful, bent over his desk and writing down all his passwords and codes. She looked almost like a ghost, translucent and pale, as did the familiar man energetically fucking her in the ass.

Ron Haskell, Harold's supervisor at the agency, also looked like a ghost.

The man who used to be Harold stumbled from the office back into his bedroom. There he saw the ghosts of his wife and her lover again, madly fucking each other all over the room, in countless positions. Somehow, he knew that he was seeing multiple trysts like echoes, over and over again. Dozens, hundreds, going back years.

Where their kids even his?

He drifted back to his to kids' rooms. Tonya and Bette rolled and played, their ghosts different in each incarnation as he viewed their entire lives at once. Harold Junior's room held the same type of ghosts, and the man who once was Harold Senior wept openly at the memories of a family he no longer had.

The former Harold's mind raced with a speed and clarity he'd never imagined possible. He realized with a certainty beyond doubt that he was now a parahuman, and that he was the victim of a crime. He realized that his former life was over; perhaps it had ended long before and he just was too stupid, empty and blind to realize it.

Not anymore. Now, he saw more clearly than he ever dreamed possible. He thought faster than he'd ever conceived. And…and…

He still stood in any empty house, surrounded by the ghosts of what he once had but likely never truly appreciated.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Nutcracker smiled at his wife, who looked very much like a giant, bipedal steel rhinoceros balloon in her unique armor. In costume, she went by Snubnose, but out of costume he called her Yukane. She smiled shyly back—her English still wasn't very good. Nor would many call her a beautiful woman, since she was rather stout and short, with pockmarked cheeks that make-up alone couldn't quite hide.

Yet Nutcracker considered himself blessed to have her in his life this last year. Moreover, his heart and power combined to assure him she felt the same.

"Here," the driver called over her shoulder from the cab of the PRT transport.

The two capes left through the back of the van onto the cracked, partially obliterated cement field that once served as a shipping hub in West Seattle. Almost immediately Nutcracker noticed the twisted, crushed mass of steel near the 70-foot ship that likely started its life as a research vessel forty years before.

The PRT and police had already set up tents for triage for the hundred or so shell-shocked kids that had not immediately been transported by ambulance. The now flat top of the boat was awash with forensics teams from both the PRT and Seattle police. Portable light stands illuminated everything in the otherwise dark night, punctuated by a constant stream of flashes from cameras.

Behind the triage tents, Nutcracker could see three lines of black body bags.

From the twisted mass of metal, Nutcracker could see the head of the Seattle Protectorate walking calmly as if it were a sunny day in the park. Beside Gasconade, Fume was speaking and gesticulating wildly with her hands.

"Nutcracker, Snubnose," Gasconade said. He sounded perfectly normal, but his appearance was anything but.

The head of the area Protectorate looked like the picture of an ordinary blond, blue-eyed man. Only like a picture, though.. No matter what angle Nutcracker saw him at, it looked as if he were viewing a three-dimensional photo or even hologram. Gasconade existed in a constant Breaker state, almost impervious, resetting every thirty seconds. In fact, everything he interacted with reset as well. He could pull out one of his Desert Eagles and shoot Nutcracker in the head, and thirty seconds he'd be fine. Traumatized from the memory, but physically fine.

Fume, on the other hand, appeared to be a stick-thin woman whose Greek ancestry was hidden behind her bright yellow Hazmat suit which served as her costume. Only her hands remained bare because of her unique and rather noxious power.

"What do we have?" Nutcracker asked.

"A lot of dead Russians, and just over a hundred kidnapped teens," Gasconade said. Just as he didn't appear bothered by the carnage, he didn't sound bothered by the kidnappings either. "So far we've found sixty dead, but we suspect there are more dead within the collapsed superstructure of the ship. We have three capes in custody and identified another two among the deceased."

"Who?" Nutcracker asked.

"Almost the entire American branch of the Saltykoya Bratva," Fume said excitedly. Her long, pale hands fluttered as she spoke. "We have Virago, Mokosh and Koschei in custody. Tunguska and Saltykovskaya are dead. Get this! Koschei is a vegetable. Whatever happened scrambled his brain. The paramedic said Mokosh probably has a broken spine. Virago's alive but unresponsive."

"Clues?" Nutcracker said.

"The witnesses are not speaking," Gasconade said.

"Traumatized?"

"Obstinate. They've refused to tell us who saved them. Currently theory is the Elite finally arrived and let the children go with threats if they broke silence. We've had evidence they were trying to work their way into Seattle for some time."

"Which is why you requested me," Nutcracker said. He was not technically a part of the Protectorate; he just happened to be able to fulfill his duties with Watchdog from Seattle instead of San Diego. "I'll take a look."

"Your hat," Snubnose reminded him.

Nutcracker smiled at her as he accepted the fedora. "Of course. Thank you."

With his fedora, felt domino mask and great coat in place, Nutcracker walked up the boarding ramp to the surface of the boat. He flagged down the PRT Senior Agent in Charge supervising the site investigation.

"Good evening, Cheryl."

SAC Cheryl Peabody's face was mostly hidden by her helmet, but he could still see her frown. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, just enjoying the sights," he said lightly. "Mind walking me down to where the kids were?"

Happy or not, Peabody was a professional. With a curt nod she led him down the steep, metal stairs to the bottom hold of the ship, and the long, narrow hall that seemed to run its length. Nutcracker activated his power and let the ghosts show him what happened.

He followed where the ghosts led without hesitation, having become adept at taking full advantage of his power over the past eight years. He knew not to let himself be side tracked by other ghosts—on that path lay a Thinker's headache that could render him useless for a week.

He found his target ghost—a slim teenaged girl—and he followed her up the stairs to the deck. All around him, the PRT and police forensics team continued to take photos around the taped outlines of all the bodies.

Post-cognition, his primary talent was called. A Thinker power that was especially useful in criminal investigations. What his power showed him now was a girl standing on the shattered deck of a broken ship surrounded by the men she killed, staring down with an expression of utter despair.

"Nutcracker?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Snubnose. "You okay? You look sad. Something bad happen?"

The question was a testament to her still failing grasp of the language. Surrounded by dead, of course something bad happened. But he understood what she meant.

"Yes," he told her. "I'm fine. It's just sad."

He would have kissed her cheek if the steel balloon that acted as a magnifier for her gravity-negating power didn't make the act physically impossible. Instead, he followed the ghost back down to the hold, aware of Peabody and Gasconade now watching him as he wandered, seemingly aimless to their eyes, about the ship.

He watched as the ghost used a powerful telekinesis to free all the kids before she stumbled, seriously injured herself, into the room with a petite Asian girl and a seriously wounded Latina girl. He watched, his eyes moist, as the ghost slid down the side of the wall, leaving a trail of blood that remained as a black smear even now.

To his shock, the wounded warrior levitated the Latina closer, and then even as she was about to pass out somehow healed the wounded girl of both bullet wounds. He backed away as more ghosts arrived—that of the petite Asian girl he saw before, and now paramedics.

Though the Latina looked worse, with her recent healing he could see that it was his primary target who was now in worse shape. Nutcracker watched as the paramedics worked to stabilize the lanky cape. Once they did so sufficiently, they moved her onto a gurney and rushed both her and the Latina out of the ship with the Asian girl a step behind.

Nutcracker followed the ghosts back out as they moved the injured to ambulance number 117. The Asian girl tried to climb in, but since she wasn't injured and obviously wasn't related, the paramedic said something and motioned to where all the other terrified kids were being gathered by police.

A female police officer came and wrapped a blanket around the girl's shoulders, speaking soothingly to her with a level of professional competence Nutcracker appreciated. The Asian girl let herself be led away as the Ambulance left the scene.

Something about the battle disturbed him, though. There was a moment where the warrior halted, as if suffering a seizure. It was something he'd seen before.

Turning on his heal, Nutcracker rushed back into the ship and moved back to the cell where the lanky cape collapsed. The body was marked out in tape by the forensics team, but blood remained all over the room. Nutcracker activated his sight again, but this time followed the Asian girl.

He watched as soldiers flooded the prison area of the ship, kicking and beating the teens back into their cages. He watched with his heart breaking as the young Latina girl brandished a large pistol and began firing randomly into the soldiers until they returned fire and wounded her so badly.

Her friend dragged her back into the cell, but of course the soldiers followed to get revenge for their falling comrades. All else after that was lost in white hot bloom of a Trigger event. That petite Asian girl had just become a parahuman.

Nutcracker left the ship again.

"Anything?" Gasconade said from behind him.

Of course, when Nutcracker roused himself from his sight, he stood on the pavement near the ship and the triage tent where the other teens were being processed.

"Quite a bit, actually," he told the rugged cape. "The kids haven't been silenced by fear. They're not saying anything out of loyalty. I need to know where Ambulance 117 took it's patients. It left perhaps twenty minutes ago. I need to borrow Fume's motorcycle to follow it."

Fume, having heard her name, came closer. "What's this about my motorcycle?"

"I'll take good care of it," Nutcracker promised. "But I need to follow the path while I can."

Fume scowled fiercely but tossed him the key. "Not a scratch."

In minutes he was riding after the ghost of the girl. She lay unmoving in the ambulance next to other gunshot victim. Given where they were, it didn't surprise him that both were heading to the ER at Bayview West.

He rolled the bike up next to ambulance entrance; the two victims were already inside. He removed his Protectorate-issue phone and called the PRT.

"Yes, this is Nutcracker. I need a PRT team to Bayview West immediately. There is a potentially hostile parahuman undergoing treatment."

He didn't bother waiting for the response. Instead, he turned off Fume's precious bike and walked resolutely through the doors into the ER. The room was filled with the detritus of lost humans—gun and stab victims, drug overdoses, Diabetics in need of treatment who had no choice but to use the ER. He had more than a few glares—the mask marked him as a cape. The badge he removed and hung from his great coat pocket confirmed he was a hero.

The admitting nurse watched him come with narrowed eyes. Hospitals did not particularly care for the Protectorate in Seattle.

"Good evening," he told her. "Two young gunshot victims were just brought in by ambulance. Can you tell me where they are?"

"Do you have a warrant?"

Before Nutcracker had a chance to answer, the door to the ER opened and a short, rotund woman in coke-bottle glasses and creamy dark skin strode imperiously out into the room. Her eyes immediately lit upon on him.

"She's mine!" Dr. Yvonne White declared vehemently. "A new cape rolls in here with a healing power like that? She's mine, Nutcracker!"

"Yvonne, we need to talk privately," Nutcracker said. He tried not to hiss, but it was hard not to convey how delicate the situation was.

Dr. White, the PRT Chief Medical Officer for Seattle, glared a long moment before she nodded and motioned with her hand to follow her back into the ER.

"Paramedics came in with two gunshot victims. One had two gut shots almost completely healed and said the other was a cape. That means the wounded girl is probably a six or seven on the Stansfield-Manton scale for parahuman healing. That makes her a protected asset and under my purview!"

"Can I see her?" Nutcracker asked. "Please, Yvonne, there's more going on than you realize. I've already called for a PRT squad. If I'm right, my next call will be to Alexandria."

Dr. White stopped mid-step, turned, and stared. "What's going on?"

"Please, it's important."

"She's obviously a minor, and a cape. The rules…"

"If she's who I think, it doesn't matter. Please don't make me go over your head, Yvonne. We could all be in danger. Please."

"Fine. Gown-up."

He gladly removed the gloves of his costume and washed his hands before dawning non-latex surgical gloves and a blue gown. He followed Dr. White into a cramped operating room framed solely by curtains where the doctors were examining a thin, pale girl with messily cropped, short black hair and dark rings under her eyes.

"…still in there," the surgeon was saying. "Prep OR 2 for an extraction. I don't see any broken bones, but we'll want X-rays to be…Dr. White, who's this?"

Nutcracker felt odd, almost detached, as he stepped past the PRT CMO until he stood at the side of the bed. Ignoring the questioning doctor, he reached down and gently lifted one of the girl's eyelids to reveal pure black underneath, from the tear duct to the outer corner.

He let it close and stepped back.

"Dr. White, bring your own people in," he said with calm determination. "Get the civilians out of here. We may need to evacuate the hospital if we can't keep her sedated. To that end, you need to keep this girl under. She could burn through a Tinker-made tranquilizer in under two hours. If you've got anything you use on brutes, use it on her."

Dr. White bit down on whatever else she was going to say. Instead, she turned to the medical staff. "Dr. Arjun, ladies and gentlemen, prep the patient for transport to the secure PRT wing. We have some Brute-rated sedatives from LA in store. We'll get them ready."

Nutcracker was about to reach into his phone to call for additional Protectorate resources as well when he noticed something odd. The ER physician and nurses had cut away Hebert's shirt to expose the bullet wound in the hollow of her shoulder for the examination. As he watched, a stream of blood started to flow out of it, followed immediately by the small, mal-formed bullet itself.

"Get out!" He managed the shout a second before Hebert's black eyes opened. "Everyone out, now!"

With her good hand, itself still coated in caked blood, one of the most dangerous capes in the world removed the oxygen mask from her face as panicked nurses and the doctor rushed out of the room, leaving only Dr. White and Nutcracker.

"Is she okay?"

The question confused Nutcracker. He was expecting threats or violence, not a breathless question.

_The girl I healed. Is she okay?_

The words burned into the forefront of Nutcracker's consciousness, resounding like an echo of the girl's voice in his head. Beside him, Yvonne gasped.

"Yes!" Dr. White said. Obviously she heard the mental voice as well. She gathered herself visibly. "Yes. You saved her life."

Taylor Hebert, the so-called Winslow Simurgh, sat up, moaning a little as she cradled her arm.

"You're hurt, you need to let us help you," Yvonne said.

The girl turned and stared at her, her black eyes rimmed with red. A single tear ran down her cheek. "Help me to where, the Birdcage? I think I'm better off on my own."

Nutcracker considered reaching for his gun, but then thought better of it after remembering just what this girl did earlier this afternoon. She stood, looking around the cramped room, before she found what she wanted. A filthy, blood-soaked satchel floated up off the floor to her waiting hand. She threw it over her good shoulder.

The whole situation felt surreal to Nutcracker. Based on all reports, he was expecting mindless violence and quick death. The girl he saw, however, appeared far too reasonable to match the damning reports out of New Hampshire.

"If you let me walk out of here, nobody gets hurt," she said softly. "If you make me fight, people will die. I don't want to go to the Birdcage. Like I told Dragon, I'd rather die first. Compared to that, killing you fuckers is easy."

Except, Nutcracker thought quickly, she _hadn't yet._ He knew of villains who would have rampaged out of the hospital without a second thought to collateral damage. The girl didn't want a fight any more than he did.

Playing on a sudden hunch, Nutcracker raised his hands and moderated his voice to sound calmer than he felt.

"Miss Hebert, your Birdcage Sentence was passed _in absentia_. It was believed that you were not capable of reason and represented a danger to the public. The fact that we're standing here, talking, shows that may not be the case," Nutcracker pointed out. "If you surrender peacefully, you can have your day in court."

"Day in court?" Her short bark of laughter crackled with despair. "People are fucking terrified of me. They don't care about guilt or innocence, they'd shove me into that hell just because of what I _could _do. No thank you. You're all liars. You fuckers killed my dad. I won't let you kill me. Now move, or I'll make you move."

While Nutcracker had gone through the same training a police officer went through as part of his Watchdog licensing, he was not rated for combat or field arrests. Even if he were, he doubted he could present much of a threat. Instead, he touched Dr. White's shoulder to let her know what he was doing, and slowly pulled back the OR curtain.

The wounded young villain visibly tensed when she saw the line of police and PRT agents that quickly fell in a hemisphere around the cordoned off area.

In any other circumstance, with a dozen of the PRT's finest on the case, Nutcracker would have given the signal to foam her. But as he stood watching her, and saw the faint flicker of blue energy about her good hand, he knew in that instant that everyone in the room would die if they pushed her too hard.

_We can't beat her._ _More importantly, we can't afford to try._

"Code Zebra, back off!"

The PRT agents' eyes were hidden behind their face masks. Still, he could almost feel those eyes look from the wounded wisp of a girl to Nutcracker in disbelief.

"Code Zebra, my authority, back off," Nutcracker said again. He kept both hands up for Hebert to see and then slowly backed into the hall, opening the way to the door. "We're going to let our young friend her leave in peace."

The girl obviously hurt. He could see it in every step, in every wince and every breath. Though she had a brute rating, he suspected it was for rapid healing rather than general toughness. The fight on that ship took a lot out of her. And yet, he also had no doubt she could kill all of them in a breath. He watched with barely contained tension as she walked away.

It wasn't until his chest began to hurt that Nutcracker realized he was holding his breath. Somehow, he knew something was going to go wrong.

The police and PRT agents fanned out behind him, guns and foam dispensers at the ready. They watched the lone cape limp toward the doors of the hospital.

She limped through a crowded lobby filled with injured gang-bangers. Nutcracker didn't need pre-cognition to know this wasn't going to end well at all. With a room full of young, angry kids facing a line of police officers and PRT agents, many of them naturally jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Some jumped up and ran for the doors; others jumped onto any potential hostages they could find. And one truly idiotic, unfortunate soul reached out and wrapped a muscular arm around Taylor Hebert's neck. The room erupted in angry shouts and frightened screams.

The young man with his arm around Hebert's neck spun her around, a gun to her temple, and started screaming in Japanese. A tense stand-off emerged as the police and PRT agents fanned out further, weapons at the ready. Abruptly, all the screaming cut off as the two sides took an accounting of the other. The only sound was of a breathless laugh.

Within the thug's arm, Taylor Hebert was laughing. To Nutcracker's ears, it wasn't a funny sound at all. The volume increased, as did the manic nature of it. He could hear echoes of the sound in his mind and realized she was somehow broadcasting telepathically.

The other gang bangers in the room must have finally made the connection to the fact that the PRT did not deploy for non-powered individuals. They began backing away from the hysterical girl. The thug holding her shoved the gun against her temple, shouting at her to shut up.

"Taylor, don't…" Nutcracker said.

It was too late.

The thug imploded. Every bone in his body snapped with a horrifying series of cracks, like firecrackers popping in rapid succession. Gangbangers and nurses alike backed away in horror as the unfortunate gang member floated off the ground, screaming as all of his bones broke, until finally he flew against one of the steel columns by the front door with so much speed and power that his body pulped and spread a curtain of blood across the front windows.

Alone again, Taylor fell to her knees. She looked right at Nutcracker, tears running down her cheeks, and screamed.

Men and women—even the chairs—blasted away from her as if she were the heart of a hurricane. They flew against the opposite walls of the lobby and remained where they landed, even if it was ten feet off the floor. That same invisible force sent the officers and agents flying backwards and even hit Nutcracker like a freight train.

Stifling a groan, Nutcracker picked himself up enough to watch as Hebert did the same. She must have used her power, though, because it looked like she momentarily became weightless. Her bag floated once more to her good shoulder. She turned, somehow keeping at least fifty people crammed up against opposite walls, and limped toward the door.

Only when she was outside did all the people fall with startled screams to the floor.

After, when Nutcracker made his way outside, he found the PRT transport van upside down.


	8. Full Body Contact

A/N: Chap 7 review responses are in my forums as normal. And now, for a literally breathing space.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Full Body Contact**

_Are you ready, Child?_

Taylor woke up shivering so hard it hurt. It took physical effort to still the jarring chatter of her teeth. After that, it took a few moments to realize she was in the back seat of a stolen car under a thin blanket she'd found in the trunk. Shivering and hurting, she forced herself to sit up and look out the frosted glass.

Her stomach growled, and then cramped into a knot. She'd never been so hungry before, not even when she stole that meatloaf from the Schaefer's. Sitting up took effort and hurt more than she wanted, but even so she could tell that her power had worked on her shoulder as she slept. She could already move her arm better.

The sounds of distant traffic and closing doors made her roll down the window enough to peek over the frost. After the nightmare of the previous night, she'd driven south as fast as she could, which given the fact she'd never had any driving lessons took every ounce of her concentration.

She'd finally pulled over in the parking lot of a motel when she couldn't keep her eyes open. She crawled into the back seat and passed out. Now, though, she was kicking herself for just not breaking into a hotel room.

Through the crack in the window she saw a family leaving a pair of rooms. A mother and father, a son almost his father's height, and a daughter who looked eight if a day. They all donned heavy coats as they left their hotel room and began walking across the parking lot toward a nearby restaurant.

Taylor didn't hesitate. She left the car and made her away up the stairs to the exterior door the family just left. She barely even had to think about it before she unlocked the door from the inside and stepped into a blessedly warm room.

The king-sized bed was rumpled from the parent's sleep. Taylor looked until she found the lavender suitcase, deciding it was the mother's. From a distance the mother looked taller than she was, but of similar build. The woman's' bras were, of course, far too big. The sweaters and jeans, though, looked like they could fit with a belt. Though she hated stealing another woman's underwear, Taylor considered it a necessity.

As much as she wanted a shower, she didn't feel she could risk it. Instead she quickly stripped out of her filthy, blood-soaked sweats from the Bratva boat and pulled on the woman's still slightly over-sized underwear and her jeans.

Removing her hoodie, though, proved a problem. Her shoulder felt better, but only relative to when she was first shot. It still hurt like hell. She found herself struggling to pull the sweater off. Finally, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain, she cheated and pulled the torn, blood-soaked garment off with the Force.

Only then did she realized that, while she struggled and concentrated on getting her hoodie off, the family had returned. The family of four stood just inside the door, staring at her with gaping jaws.

The teenaged son was staring pointedly at her chest. Taylor stood topless in the family's hotel room.

"What the hell are you doing?" the father asked angrily.

She should have been embarrassed and horrified. But after yesterday, all she could do was sit on the bed and laugh. She looked down and saw that her shoulder was almost black from bruising from the bullet, and dried blood had crusted all over her shoulder and left breast.

Fortunately, the family hadn't come closer, though the boy had a phone out. That made her laughter stop as she telekinetically ripped the phone from his hands against the wall behind her. It embedded itself in the dry wall and sparked before going dark.

"Next phone I see is going down your throat," she said.

"What…?" The father stared at the shattered phone in alarm.

"I'm stealing a set of clothes," Taylor said. "Sorry."

Her cheeks flushed almost painfully hot as she used her power and painfully pulled on one of the woman's thick sweaters.

"Are you a cape?" the boy asked.

"What gave it away? The eyes? The telekinesis? Did my boobs just shout at you, 'Cape tits!'?"

"You broke into here, young lady," the husband said. He didn't sound quite as confident as before. She noticed with a stab of regret how he subtly placed himself between her and his kids, even the horny son who wanted to take a picture of her topless. "Take what you want and go. We won't try to stop you."

_Like he could._

"Do you have food in here? I haven't eaten since the Russians kidnapped me. Fuck, I don't even know how long it's been. What day is it?"

"It's…it's Saturday," the mother said. "And…we have some left-over pizza in the fridge."

Taylor glanced at the little mini-fridge under the microwave. She opened it telekinetically and was pleased to see a large baggie filled with pizza slices. She pulled it to her good hand, removed a piece, and took a bite. One of the sodas in the door flew to her hand a second later.

"Might as well sit," Taylor said. "I can't let you go yet. Not until I'm done."

"But…you'll let us go?" the mother asked. She somehow managed to make it sound like she was begging.

"Yeah. Just need food and a chance to get warm and…" She was talking around a mouthful of food. She stopped, put the piece of pizza down on the bed regardless of the crumbs, and wiped away tears with the heel of her hand. "Been a shit couple of days. Just need a chance to breathe and get warm."

"You're bleeding," the mother noted.

Taylor looked down at the growing stain on the hoody. "Fuck, I thought… Got shot last night saving a bunch of kids from Russian sex-slavers. Must have torn something when I pulled my old shirt off."

The mother looked from Taylor's shoulder to the ruined, blood-soaked shirt on the floor. "I have a first aid kit."

"Louise…" the husband warned.

The mother plowed on. "Let me bandage you up. Donnie has a hoodie you can wear over the sweater for the cold. Then…then you need to let us go."

"I wasn't going to hurt you guys. I've hurt enough people. I just needed a chance to catch my breath and get warm. It's so cold."

As if reaching a turning point, Louise stepped out from behind her husband and moved to the bed Taylor sat on. Without hesitation she pulled her suitcase closer until she fished out a large first aid kit. Taylor took a bite of the cold pizza and watched in silence as the woman walked to her wounded side.

"Donnie, Kenneth, turn around please. Susan, can you get me a clean washcloth from the bath room and wet one side of it for me?"

The little girl ran quickly to the bathroom while her brother and dad obligingly turned to face the door. Louise gripped the edge of the sleeve. "Pull your arm out if you can."

It hurt to do so, but not nearly as much as taking off the first shirt. Taylor covered her embarrassed blush as the mother lifted the sweater up to expose the bullet wound. Susan returned with the wash cloth.

"It looks like it's several days old," she noticed.

"How would…" Taylor paused when the Force gave her an answer. "Oh, you're a nurse."

The woman looked surprised, but just nodded as she gently cleaned away the new blood with the wet side of the washcloth, then spot dried it with the other side. The first aid kit held a large square pad that she placed on the wound, followed by gauze. She then carefully taped it down.

"I can't imagine the trouble you must be facing," Louise said. She spoke softly, like a parent to a child at bed time. "You're Taylor Hebert, aren't you? You've been on the news a lot."

"Yeah." She bit viciously into the pizza, finishing the slice.

Louise gently guided her arm back into the sleeve. "Donnie, please go get your UW hoodie."

"But…"

"You said you preferred Oregon State anyway," the dad pointed out.

Which meant Donnie was almost college age. She watched as he left the room through a side door into the next. In her mind, she could feel him walk straight to the phone.

"Please tell him not to touch that phone," Taylor told the boy's mom.

"Donnie, get the sweater. Leave the phone alone."

"What? I'm not…"

"I'm telepathic, Donnie," Taylor said loud enough for him to hear. "I can read your mind."

The chastened Donnie returned a second later with a patently oversized hooded sweater. Taylor let Louise help her pull it on over the nicer knit sweater, covering the blood and providing extra heat.

And that was it. Taylor realized with a lurching feeling in her chest that she had no reason to stay. She had new clothes, food and drink. She'd even had her bullet wound bandaged. She had no reason to stay, and yet she wanted too so badly her eyes stung.

"I'm so sorry, Taylor," Louise said softly, as if somehow she was the telepath and was reading Taylor's mind.

"So was Dragon. Didn't stop her, did it?" She grabbed the baggie with the rest of the pizza slices and the bottle of soda. She had an idea. "Hopefully they'll give up once I reach Mexico. Please go into the bathroom and lock the door. Then I'll leave and you won't see me again."

This time, no one protested. The husband, Kenneth, gripped his daughter's shoulders as he led her into the small bathroom. As small as it was, it still fit all four easily. When they were all inside, Taylor telekinetically snapped the rod that would have allowed them to easily open the door. It would only buy a minute or too, but that might prevent them from seeing what she was driving.

On her way out, she saw a pair of black sunglasses on a small bistro table near the door. She grabbed them, stepped out, and locked the door before returning to her stolen car. Rather than drive south, she turned and headed north, back into Seattle.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

With new clothes, a car and sunglasses, Taylor drove north again until she found a Buy n' Large. She went in concentrating on projecting an obfuscation field while she shopped for toiletries and clothing. She had more than enough cash. She also purchased a round pair of tinted glasses without a prescription—they were ostensibly sunglasses, but the red tint was light enough she could see easily through them while they obscured her black eyes.

Her next stop was a cheap, rundown motel on the border of the Seattle city limits that looked similar to the one she just left, only twenty years older with much worse management. The sign advertised cable and hourly rates and straddled a liquor store on one side, and a smoke shop on the other. Across the street from the hotel, Taylor felt her cheeks burning as she saw a strip club.

It was early afternoon, so fortunately the club didn't have much in the way of business. She noticed a few homeless men sitting on the curb near the open-air motel. Only a few cars were parked there.

Grimacing, Taylor pulled into the lot. She needed a shower and someplace to sleep. She could feel her wounds still weakening her, and knew healing would only come with sleep. More importantly, she needed to bleach her hair.

The woman behind the counter looked up with a frown when Taylor walked in. She stood, revealing a girth twice that of Taylor, without an ounce of fat. Rather, she looked like a walking slab of beef with breasts.

"What can I do for you, girlie?" the woman asked. She didn't leer, per se. But she didn't look happy either.

"Room for the night," Taylor said.

"For the night, huh? Fifty deposit, half is refundable in the morning. I need your ID and…"

Taylor put two hundred cash on the counter. "You don't need my ID."

She was hoping the money would work so she wouldn't have to use the Force. She'd never tried bribing anyone before, but this seemed like a reasonable time and place. Nor was she wrong, at least not about everything.

The woman stared at her for a while before she counted out five of the ten twenties. "Hundred flat for the night with no ID."

She reached behind and grabbed a key. "Room 245. It's at the end of the wing to your right, second floor. Make sure to lock all your deadbolts. We've had break-ins before." She put the key on the remaining five twenty-dollar bills.

"Thanks."

The room when she reached it smelled musty. The crown molding on the ceiling hung loose in several places and she could see stains on the carpet. The bed looked older than her old bed in Brockton Bay which, given it was her father's before her, was saying something.

However, the door behind her had three deadbolt locks and the window had black-out shades and bars on the outside. She went straight to the bathroom and pulled out the toothpaste and her new brush with an almost visceral feeling of anticipation.

The shower had a timer on it. When the timer ran out, so did the hot water. Fortunately, she was clean enough and climbed out. Wrapped in the towel, she stood in front of the dingy mirror and stared at her now bleached-blonde hair. With her dark brows and black eyes, the blonde hair just made her looked washed out and even more tired.

Even though it was still light outside and not yet even dinner, Taylor pulled on her newly purchased sleepshirt, climbed into the musty, stiff bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor smiled when she felt her mom gently cup her cheek. "_Time to wake up, my sleepy little owl."_

"Too tired," she mumbled sleepily. "Five more minutes."

"Sorry, darling, but the Protectorate will be here in ten. Five minutes of sleep might get you life in the Birdcage."

Taylor snapped her eyes open in horror and realized that the hand cupping her cheek was real. A strange woman in a domino mask with Latina features sat on the edge of her bed, smirking down at her. Taylor could not sense her at all.

"Who are you?"

"Darling, we're on a clock here. You can call me Entourage. I'm a friend—possibly the only friend you have in the world right now. Unless you want to go to the Birdcage, I need you to get up, get dressed, and go to your car."

"I don't understand…"

"The Protectorate has a post-cog who can follow you anywhere," Entourage said. "He's coming right now with three van loads of PRT agents and an entire team of capes out of Los Angeles. Not Alexandria, but her second in command and a dozen more. You're good, darling, but injured as you are, you're not that good. Come on, we need to get moving."

The woman remained completely absent in the Force, but what Taylor could sense was a steadily increasing feeling of danger. She jumped out of bed and dressed as quickly as she could. Throwing everything she had into the duffel with her stolen money, she turned to find Entourage at the door.

"Come on, Darling. Time's a' wasting."

Taylor followed her out of the motel room, only to blink at the utter darkness and cold. What time was it? At Entourage's motion, she brushed off the confusion and ran to her car. Thankfully no one had broken into it. She climbed in and said nothing as the other cape did the same on the passenger side.

"No keys?" the strange cape asked.

"Don't need them." Taylor held her hand over the ignition, and with now-practiced ease turned it over internally. "Hang on, I never learned how to drive. Which way?"

"North."

Taylor followed the Entourage's instructions to the letter, merging onto a highway heading north back into Seattle. Before she reached the areas of the city destroyed by Leviathan eight years ago, Entourage directed her to leave the highway and drive west across South Seattle. Finally, Taylor followed the strange cape's directions into the parking lot of an all-night café that already had a small group of tired-looking construction workers.

"Come on, Darling," Entourage said.

She led the way into the café. Now that she wasn't waking up, driving at night or terrified out of her wits, Taylor had a better chance to examine her mysterious benefactor. What she saw was a young, fit woman who didn't wear a costume, but instead a pinstripe charcoal-gray business skirt and jacket over a cream blouse. Her pumps glistened red in the lights from the café as she walked in, as if wearing a mask into a café was perfectly normal.

They walked through the café into the kitchens without anyone even looking up, until they arrived in a back office. Inside, Taylor paused when she saw a creature inside that reminded her of something she'd thought of once, though she couldn't remember exactly what.

The creature looked humanoid, with arms, legs and a head. The face had eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth. It also had sand-colored scales instead of smooth skin. It wore a cheap jogging suit and stood up as they entered.

"Took you long enough." The creature's voice sounded human, but androgynous. "Take off the clothes."

"What?" Taylor looked in horror from the creature to Entourage.

"Taylor, this is Chameleon. Chameleon is a Stranger and a Trump. Not only can she make herself look just like you, but for half an hour she can borrow your powers. Which means that the post-cog who has your scent will see only her echo, not yours. But she needs full body contact."

"Kid, you ain't got nothing I ain't seen, had, or fucked myself. Come on, don't have all day."

Taylor's cheeks burned, but she couldn't sense Entourage at all in the Force, and Chameleon just felt like a blank space. The only thing her power could sense was the still approaching threat from the PRT.

"Fine."

She quickly stripped out of her brand-new cloths.

"Underwear too," Chameleon smirked.

Taylor's hands shook as she complied. "I've been naked too fucking much," she muttered.

"Okay, babe," Chameleon said. "Full body contact. Don't worry, don't got the plumbing to do anything too interesting. Not yet, anyway."

The creature stripped down, revealing an utterly androgynous, reptilian body. She stepped forward and then, to Taylor's shock, hugged her tight. The creature's arms snaked under hers as she pressed her smooth, warm scales against Taylor's entire body. She felt a sudden drain, as if she'd taken one of her dad's sleeping pills, and abruptly it wasn't scales pressed against her chest, but a pair of small breasts smashed up painfully against her own.

Taylor would have fallen when Chameleon let go if Entourage hadn't been there to catch her. She found herself staring at…herself. The only difference was her hair, which for some reason the creature had copied from it's original long, curly appearance before her capture. Otherwise, everything was the same. Her non-existent hips, her barely-there chest and thin arms and legs.

"Huh, stage dancing is definitely not a career choice for you, babe," the creature said.

She sounded _exactly_ like Taylor. Only, with a West-coast accent. Chameleon quickly pulled on Taylor's clothes, and then left the room.

"Pull on the track suit," Entourage said gently.

"I don't understand what's going on," Taylor said tiredly. She pulled on the track suit.

"I know, Darling. I'm sorry. We need to buy time before we can really talk. Chameleon can do that for us. Now, come on."

They left the café just in time to see Taylor's stolen car drive away with her double behind the wheel. Entourage, however, led them to another sedan in the parking lot. She motioned for Taylor to get into the passenger side, while she herself climbed into the driver's side.

As much as Taylor wanted to grill the woman, she found herself fighting off a deep lethargy. She still had the Force, but it felt dull and distant. The most immediate thing she felt was exhaustion.

"The drain will last for half an hour, after which time Chameleon will revert to his normal state and your full power will return."

"His? I thought you said it was a her!"

"He's whatever he wants to be," Entourage said, grinning. "Chameleon is the highest priced prostitute in the West Coast. He can be _anyone_, as long as he can touch them."

"Touch? Like what he did to me?"

"No, he had to have full body contact because he was also taking your power. For just appearance, he could have just touched your cheek. That wouldn't have fooled Nutcracker, though. We've dealt with the man before—he can be stubborn."

"The one from the hospital?"

"The same."

Taylor blinked back a yawn. "How did you find me?"

"We can talk about that when we reach your home."

"My what?"

Entourage smiled at her, but didn't say anything else. Taylor tried to summon the energy to demand to know what was going on, but the lethargy just grew stronger and stronger until she couldn't keep her eyes open any more.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor woke with a rush. The Force swept back into her body like a wave of the ocean, bringing with it adrenaline and consciousness. She sat up from what felt like a cot and found herself in front of a stained-glass window that dominated the entire wall to her left. The stained glass depicted a blonde, Germanic Jesus standing on a mount, teaching his equally Aryan disciples.

To her left, she found herself looking down from an elevated platform onto the muddy, destroyed floor of a church sanctuary. Morning sunlight shone through more stained-glass windows on the east side of the abandoned church, while the west side's windows were boarded up.

And facing her on an old, cracked church pew sat Entourage, looking as perfect as before. "Hello, sleepyhead."

Taylor sat up and quickly took a better look at her surroundings. A large propane heater sat nearby, bathing their area in waves of heat that just barely kept the bitter cold of a Seattle January at bay. Beyond it she was confused to see a small tent on poles set over what looked like the base of a shower stall in the middle of the floor.

Beside it was a small chemical toilet. Next to that? A propane stove and large cooler. "What is this place?"

"Abandoned church, in case Jesus there didn't give it away." Entourage smiled impishly as she spoke. She used the Spanish pronunciation of _Hey-soos_. "We're a few blocks north of the FEMA exclusion zone, just a little south of the old North Admiral neighborhood in West Seattle. A few more blocks, the city just ends. Nothing but old mud flats and unstable forest that grew up after Leviathan. For now, this is your new home. Hungry?"

"Um, sure…what the hell?"

Another Entourage appeared on what Taylor now realized was the loft of the church, dressed identically to the first. She carried a bag of fast foot which she walked over and handed to Taylor with a wink, before popping like a balloon.

"That's your power? Duplication?"

"Yep. It got me from high school to a Ph.D in just four years too, so don't knock it." The woman smiled, and then very casually removed her mask to reveal that she was just as beautiful without as with. "My name is Gabriella Vargas. I'm the owner and chief executive officer of Esterella Corporation. We're a newly formed Parahuman Services company out of San Diego. We're opening up an office here in Seattle as a way-point for our ultimate expansion into Alaska. And we'd like to offer you a place in our ranks."

It took Taylor a long moment to grasp that. "Esterella…Corporation. What, you mean like a 9-5 job or something?"

"Or something. We don't have a set methodology. Rather, we're a collection of capes who use our powers not to play cops and robbers, but simply to make money. If it helps clarify, Esterella is part of the Elite."

_Elite._ Taylor knew about the Elite from her forays onto Para Humans Online, the largest forum about capes in the world. According to PHO, the Elite was technically a villain organization. Except, they were a villain organization that seemed to get along oddly well with the PRT.

Gabriella motioned toward the bag. Doing so reminded Taylor that the pizza she stole was hours ago. She pulled it open and removed a large breakfast taco next to a bottle of water. She ate, but watched Vargas as she did so.

"Did you know that doctors pay hundreds of dollars every year to be a part of the American Medical Association? That's our model. We're an association of capes that you'll pay an annual fee to. I'll admit it's thousands instead of hundreds. But in return, we set you up with a cape identity and a means to make money that doesn't involve stealing or violence. In your case, my contact at Bayview West said you healed a girl's gunshot wounds. Was that true?"

Taylor nodded as she ate.

"Then we'd set you up as a parahuman healer. We'd get you licensed under the Stansfield Parahuman Commerce Act so that you'd be legal and legit, and as long as you stay in your cape persona the PRT won't be able to touch you. And if any other gangs give you a hard time, you call me and we'll back you up."

"In return?"

"In return, if we have need of you, you help. For instance, if we have need of your healing services in San Diego, you agree to come and heal. If there is an Endbringer Attack on the West Coast, you agree to serve as a healer for that purpose. If an itinerant member of the Elite needs shelter, you provide it. Doing so not only aids the Elite, it would cement your position as a healer to the PRT and ensure preferential treatment if you are ever unmasked. That Birdcage sentence? If you act as a healer at an Endbringer event, I promise they would drop it in a heartbeat. Healers are too rare and valuable to toss away like that."

Taylor discovered the breakfast taco was gone. She didn't even remember finishing it. She did finish the entire bottle of water in a few desperate gulps as she thought of everything the beautiful cape said. All that she could come up with in response was: "It sounds too good to be true."

Vargas nodded. "I'm not going to lie to you, Taylor. We're not all nice people. Some laws were passed that made our lives difficult, and we've had to be more aggressive than we like to survive. Sometimes, some of our branches have even had to resort to violence. There may be a time when we ask you to engage in violence as well, though that would be a last resort. Our main goal with you as a healer in Seattle is a reference. When we recruit other capes, we can say, 'See this cape? This wonderful healer? She's one of ours. Wouldn't you like to be as well?' It works more than you might think."

She leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees. "More importantly, Taylor, you need help. You need back up and support. This area is dominated by race-based gangs. The only gang you could really join would be the Sons of the Republic, and they're a sexist bunch of racist pricks. Tekiya would try to enslave you, La Familia would do the same. I have no idea what Ovambo would do to you, but they wouldn't recruit you, that much I know. And you can't go to the PRT or Protectorate for obvious reasons. Your only choice is to try and go rogue and hope for the best, or join a team. Our team would let you use your powers for good."

Taylor had no idea why she was hesitating—she didn't have many options. "Okay. Yeah, that sounds good."

Gabriella's smile was near blinding.

"You won't regret your decision, Taylor. As a signing bonus, the car we arrived in is yours. It's down stairs in the back. You'll find a laptop and a mobile hotspot for internet service. You'll also find a business card and an address for a place to get a costume. You'll need to figure out a cape name."

"What if I need you?"

Gabriella reached into her pin-striped jack and removed a sleek, expensive-looking phone. "My contact information is in there. It also has the Speaker of the House and Upperhand's contact information—they're my HR and Financial people. We'll talk annual dues once you actually have some positive money flow. And this place?"

Gabriella leaned back and motioned around her head. "It's yours. Property beyond the Exclusion Zone is off grid. There's a generator down stairs. We've confirmed it's structurally sound and would make a very good clinic. Once you have enough money, I'd recommend you hire some local help to renovate it. But it's yours, all of it, because you made the right choice. Any questions?"

"How….what do I do next?"

"Go get a costume, Darling," Gabriella said with an impish laugh. "I left Masquerade's business card in the car. Once you have a costume, why…shoot me a text and we'll handle advertising and licensing for you. It's that simple."

"I…thank you. For everything."

"Oh Darling, don't thank me," Gabriella said. "Elite has been hoping for a healer for years. But for my division to get it? No, thank you. Now, go get a costume, come up with a super cape name for yourself, and go make us all a bunch of money!"

With that, Gabriella disappeared with a slight pop of displaced air, just like the other clone.

"Guess that explains why I couldn't sense her in the Force," Taylor muttered.

She stood from what she realized was a nice-sized cot layered in sleeping bags. The bags and cot looked brand new. She even saw price-tags on the bags. Taking inventory, she saw the tent was a camping shower with a large bladder of water hanging from the cross bars at the top. The bag actually ran through a propane heater before reaching the nozzle. The excess water drained through the little shower base through exposed PVC pipe somewhere to the ground floor.

She made use of the camping toilet, grateful that Entourage had thought to include toilet paper. She then took inventory. The heater was propane, like the shower. The camping oven/stove was also propane powered, with four burners over a small oven area for baking. The cooler was the most amazing thing. The walls of the cooler were two inches thick, and the seal strong enough she had to work to open it.

Inside, she saw layers of food—hamburger patties, hot dogs, cheese and milk, condiments and other food essentials set on trays to maximize the space. On either side were large blue plates labeled _Forever Ice_.

Taylor stared at the tinker-made ice plates. They sold for a hundred bucks a piece, but could remain cold for over a year. "Wow."

She closed the cooler and saw a wooden rolling island that came up to her waist. The shelves underneath were filled with canned and bottled foods, spices, and even a loaf of bread.

"Wow, she went all out. How'd she get all this so quick?"

As soon as she asked herself the question, though, Taylor remembered the second clone. Then she considered the name—Entourage. If she had no limit to the number of clones she could project, then there was no telling how much Gabrielle Vargas could get done quickly.

Suddenly, it hit her. Taylor staggered a little before she returned to her cot. He breath came in ragged gasps as the true import of what just happened hit her.

_Hope._ With shaking hands, she rubbed her face against the cold that just hovered on the edge of the heater's range, and considered what had happened. For the first time since the nightmare began, she had hope.

The church wasn't that large, once she started looking through it. The sanctuary might have held maybe a hundred people—the buttressed ceiling rose at least three or even four stories high, but the space itself was only a hundred feet wide, and twice that long. Passed the sanctuary she found a series of offices and a hall that led to a south-facing entrance. There were a few small classrooms for Sunday school, and a larger communal room that had a non-functioning kitchen area.

If she was going to be healing, the south-facing entrance would be where she received… patients? Clients? The thought of actually having a job left her trembling with excitement. She got even more excited when she reached a partially collapsed garage at the very bag where she found the brand-new sedan Entourage drove her in the previous night.

"This is fucking awesome," Taylor whispered. She rushed to the driver's side and climbed in. In the floor of the front seat she found a lap-top satchel and a box containing the mobile hot-spot. She also found a business card slid neatly in the face of the car radio.

_Masquerade Costume Sales_

_Live Your Own Fantasy_

"Time to get a costume, Darling," Taylor said with a grin. It felt odd for a moment, as if the muscles of her face had forgotten what the expression felt like.


	9. Elite Politics

A/N: Chap 8 review responses are in my forums as normal. Also, today you're getting a two-fer on chapters. My chapter lengths got a little messed up between chaps 9 and 10. This chapter is short even by my standards. So I'll post both today and just accept the inevitably missed reviews as punishment for the messed up chapter lengths.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Elite Politics**

Only by a combination of luck, the Force, and a speed of less than half a mile an hour did Taylor manage to back her brand new, tan-colored economy-sized sedan out of the partially collapsed garage in the annex of the abandoned church.

Given the fact that she'd never even had a driving lesson, and only did as well as she did based on a few minutes of discussion with her father's friend Kurt as a freshman, she felt she did pretty good with her driving.

After a few moments to orient herself in the unfamiliar area, Taylor drove through the maze of abandoned, rusted cars and collapsed buildings that surrounded the condemned area, until she finally reached the old FEMA barriers marking out the North Admiral exclusion zone.

She would never have found the store if not for the map function on her phone. With the Simurgh in orbit, GPS was so expensive only the military, PRT and Tinkers could afford it. However, the phone did have an excellent map feature that let Taylor mark out where she was once she found an intersection with intact street signs. Once she marked her location, the app gave her directions to the address she wanted.

She probably drove a lot slower than she should have, but without the PRT or police chasing her, she felt far more aware of the fact that she was a fifteen-year-old without a license driving a car for only the third time in her life.

Somehow, she made it to the spot her map gave her and sat in the car for the longest time trying to find the courage to walk out in public as if she weren't one of the top ten most wanted parahuman fugitives in the country.

Instead, she thought about costumes.

After her mother died, Taylor and her dad went through all of her mom's old things for anything Taylor wanted. During that emotionally draining day, she found some strange pictures of her mother dressed in an astonishingly revealing bikini with painted green skin. She'd obviously been wearing a stuffed bra as part of the costume. Her father was dressed in an old Star Trek Klingon costume and held the end of a leash around her mother's neck.

Her father was very quickly to take the picture out of her hands, but from that evidence Taylor knew that cosplay had been popular for years before capes emerged on the scene. What capes did was inspire a whole new genre of dress up, as witnessed by the store she faced.

Masquerade wasn't a Halloween costume store. It was a store dedicated to parahuman cosplayers. While it wasn't always safe to dress up in original costumes since doing so might get a person mistaken for a real cape, dressing like an existing cape was a generally safe recreational fun.

Except for the Slaughterhouse Nine, of course. That had happened only once, and the town of Ellston, Iowa, ceased to exist shortly after the real Siberian took exception to the local town's beauty queen going about in nothing but white and striped body paint and a thong. While pictures of the mostly nude, painted woman looked remarkably like the real Siberian, the real Siberian herself was an unstoppable cannibal known to be able to tank artillery shells and Alexandria. She and her murderous colleagues in the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived in Ellston within the day. The Siberian ate the beauty queen while the rest the Slaughterhouse Nine murdered the town with a brutality not seen in years.

But other than the band of over-powered murdering homeless people, generally most other capes didn't take issue with being imitated. There was a rumor that Legend, one of the Triumvirate himself, actually entered a costume contest for Legend cosplayers for a charity event.

He came in third place.

Which meant there was always that one place where you could get costumes. In Brockton Bay and most of the northeast coast, that was Cape Central. In Seattle, it was _Masquerade. _

Located in a strip mall with a Chinese Buffet, a Dollar Store, Khans Groceries, Salvation Army, and The Green Weed Smoke Shop, the place was exactly what Taylor would have expected from a niche store.

Taylor slipped on her stolen sunglasses to hide her eyes, grabbed her satchel with some of her money from the Russians, and climbed out of the car. She paused half-way to the store, sighed at herself, then walked back to grab the car keys she'd left in the ignition.

Walking into the place, Taylor could just discern the silhouettes of the previous store's name over the cheap tarp sign that didn't quite cover the front. The inside bore no surprises—a large, open warehouse with a floor covered in rows of costumes. They even had costumes for the most popular heroes broken off by sections. Narwhal was especially popular, since those dressing as Narwhal could be conservative, with a body stocking, or extremely naughty, with strategically placed adhesive blue scales over bare skin.

She found herself looking at the business card again. On the back side, in nearly Calligraphy-perfect cursive, was a short message. _Present in back. _She wandered through the various aisles as she thought about what it meant. Did Entourage mean that she had to be present in the back of the store or was she supposed to present the card to someone?

She glanced up unconsciously and went still when she saw a black dome in the high ceiling overhead. Glancing to her right, she saw another, then another. A quick look around counted eight domes.

"Fuck me," she muttered. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her senses until she could feel the mind behind the cameras, which was itself concentrating on her. Not PRT, but definitely mercenary in nature.

_He keeps track of costumes and sells identities to the highest bidder._

She looked down at the card and sighed. "Right."

It took only a moment to find a door in the back of the warehouse-style store. She started toward it with the card in her hand. Before she reached it, the door opened and a cape stepped out. He wasn't wearing a normal costume, but instead a nicely tailored suit and tie that covered his height and bulk with class. He wore a simple black mask that hid the shape of his cheeks, nose and eyes, but did nothing else to hide the fact that he was a tall, shaven-headed black man whose suit did little to hide his muscles.

"Can I help you?"

His voice was so deep it made her bones thrum.

Wordlessly, she held out the card.

The large man didn't even blink. "This way, please."

He opened the door and led her into the back. What she saw inside were banks and banks of video monitors recording from every camera on the premises. And in the far end of the room, a large automatic pistol in hand, sat an older black man in a suit not too dissimilar from the cape's. His head was also clean shaven, but he wore a pepper-gray goatee that gave his face a sharp look to it. He didn't wear a mask and did not feel like a cape in the Force.

The large cape walked calmly to the desk and placed the card on it. The older man didn't even look. Instead, he kept his eyes and the barrel of his pistol pointed at Taylor. In the Force, she felt caution from the man bordering on fear, tinted with a touch of anger.

"The gun wouldn't do you any good," she said. "If I was here to cause trouble, I mean."

"Why are you here?" Unlike the cape's booming deep voice, this man sounded far more human, his voice pitched like that of someone used to speaking for a living.

"Entourage gave me the card. I need a costume."

"Shit," the cape muttered.

"So, that little upstart thinks she can just send a lackey into my place of business and tell me what to do?"

This was not at all how Taylor thought it was going to go. After everything Entourage did, she just assumed that Masquerade was connected to her somehow. It was obvious, though, that this man was not pleased by her presence. The problem, of course, was that Taylor didn't care. Her shoulder still hurt, though she could tell that the sleep she did get the previous night helped it heal a great deal. But the fact remained she still hurt, and she still needed a costume.

And that fucker was still pointing a gun at her.

"How is my buying a costume telling you what to do? And please put gun down. I'm not here for a fight."

He brandished the weapon higher. "Don't you try and tell me what…"

Taylor telekinetically pulled the gun into her hand. The huge cape burst forward with remarkable speed and Taylor had no doubt from the Force that if he got a hand on her, it would hurt. Fortunately, she sensed his intent before he even started moving. A simple thought and burst of will lifted him up against the ceiling, preventing him from finding purchase or using the striker power she sensed in him.

"Nice trick," the older man said, suddenly calm.

"This a test?"

"Test? Sure, let's go with that. You passed. Put Obsidian down and give me my gun back."

"Mr. Oldham, I'm telepathic. I'm not going to give you back a gun just so you can shoot me with it. I came in here to get a costume. I have money, I don't mind paying a fair price. But now I'm curious why Entourage would send me here if you didn't have a working relationship with her."

"You're the mind reader, Winslow, you figure it out." Of course he knew who she was.

_Bravado. Anger. Fear. Fear for his son_. "Do you really want me digging into your mind that far, Mr. Oldham? It would hurt. And if I didn't find what I needed, I'd have to dig in your son's mind as well."

The man's nostril's flared. His eyes darted to where Obsidian flailed against the low ceiling of the back office. "You hurt him…"

"If I have to hurt him, neither of you will live," Taylor said simply. It was a bluff, but given the sheer body count she'd left over the last few days, she felt it was a good bluff.

Evidently Oldham thought so too. "Fine. Elite isn't just one organization. There are cells. Entourage was supposed to be going to Alaska. Seattle was Nonpareil's assignment. She poached your ass, and my boss is not going to be happy about that."

"What does that have to do with my buying a costume?"

"That's a recruitment card, bitch…"

Taylor held up a hand, and Ohlman gasped before clutching at his throat.

"Mr. Ohlman, I've had a bad couple of weeks. I'd appreciate it if you not call me things like that. Until I figure out a cape name, you can call me Miss Hebert. We can at least pretend to have manners, right?"

She released her grip on his throat just as his eyes were starting to bulge out. He fell forward across his desk, gasping for air. "Oh you…"

He stopped when Taylor held up her hand again.

"In the past two weeks, I was tortured until I triggered, the Protectorate got my Dad killed, I was sentenced to the Birdcage, hunted by capes, kidnapped by Russians, shot and cut, and ended up having to kill a hundred people. I've had a shitty week."

She leaned forward and removed her sunglasses so he could see her black eyes clearly.

"But then Entourage came. She helped me get away from the Protectorate. She got me a place to sleep and food. Even a car. I'm fifteen, it's been an adventure driving it. When she gave me that card, I thought I'd meet someone else that could help. All I want is a costume, I didn't want to fight or threaten. I'm not asking for charity. I have money. I just want a costume. Will you help me? Please?"

Sharp, questing dark eyes stared back at her. She watched as his gaze darted over his face, looking over her features. "You really are just a fucking kid, aren't?"

"I was a sophomore in high school, Mr. Oldham. Until those girls stuffed me into a locker filled with rotting blood, shit and insects, all I really wanted was to pass my tests and take driver's ed. I never wanted any of this. But I'm here. I can either cry about it, or move on. And moving on means a costume. Please."

"Put my son down, and we'll talk."

Taylor let Obsidian down gently. Once on his feet, the huge cape started to surge forward, only to stop at a motion from his dad. "Now hand me back my gun."

Taylor had already sensed enough of the weapon's internal mechanisms to figure out how to release the clip. She then pulled the slide back to release the bullet in the barrel. She leaned forward and placed the safed weapon back on Oldham's desk.

"You asked if you being here was a test?" Oldham held up the card. "It's a test for me, to see if I'm willing to leave Nonpareil's cell and jump ship to Entourage. This card entitles you to services from anyone under Entourage for free."

"Like I said, Mr. Ohlman, I have cash. How much would a good costume cost me?"

"Depends on what you're looking for."

"I guess…" Taylor hadn't even thought about it before then. "Two costumes. My primary job will be a healer, so something comfortable and more medically themed. Then a second costume for when I need to hurt instead of heal. Maybe a few masks just for casual use. I'd like it all to carry a common theme, though."

"Eight thousand," Oldham said in a flat tone.

"I'm willing to pay a fair price, but that's penalizing me for Entourage. Let's say four."

"I _am_ penalizing you for being with Entourage. So I can tell Nonpareil that I made you pay through the nose."

"And four would be twice what you'd normally charge, so I would be."

"And how would you…" Oldham chuckled darkly. "Right. Five. Final offer."

"Agreed." Taylor didn't hesitate—she did not want this man as an enemy, especially if he was part of Elite as well.

The older of the two looked up at the much taller Obsidian. "Take her to Miss Kojima in back. Full work up."

"Sure thing, Da…Mr. Ohlman."

Taylor stood. "Thank you, Mr. Ohlman. If you ever need parahuman healing, I'll make sure to only charge you twice my normal rate."

Rather than be upset, Ohlman actually chuckled. "I bet you will. Go with Obsidian, the shop's in back."

Taylor nodded and then fell in behind the much larger Obsidian. She keenly felt Oldham's eyes on her back, but didn't turn around. After passing through a few halls, she stepped into what looked very much like a sweatshop. Young Japanese women worked across stations of sewing machines. Windows set high in the wall behind them gave a bit of natural light to go with the artificial lighting.

Large whiteboards held numbers, with Japanese script on one side, and English on the others. "Daily quota, Monthly quota, weekly bonuses."

She couldn't help but feel a little relief. The women were at least getting paid.

From their midst came a tiny, ancient Japanese woman with a deeply lined face marked with warts. Her black hair looked permed, but so thin Taylor could see her scalp.

"Who is this, Obsidian?" The woman's English sounded heavily accented but precisely spoken.

"Customer, Mrs. Kojima," Obsidian said. "Full service. Wants at least two costumes."

"Okay. Come, girlie. You need to strip so we can take measurements."

Taylor glanced at Obsidian, who shrugged. "Did it to me too."

"You'd better not look," Taylor said.

Obsidian's grin turned vicious. "At what?"

"You know, the ceiling in here is a lot higher."

Like his dad, for some reason Obsidian thought the very real threat was funny.

Mrs. Kojima grabbed Taylor's hand and pulled her into the middle floor. She snapped a pair of names, and suddenly Taylor found herself surrounded by three women, two of whom were only a few years older than she was. They stripped her down to her underwear and started measuring everything in a flurry of activity that occurred too fast for her to be embarrassed. The exchange with Chameleon was a lot worse in that regard.

They finished measuring in just minutes and Taylor was able to get dressed again. To her astonishment, Mrs. Kojima walked toward one of the many mannequins that lined the floor and touched it. A second later, the mannequin changed shape until Taylor was looking at her own body, even down to the shape of her lips, nose and eyes.

The cape did the same thing to a second mannequin, then clapped her hands. In the course of twenty minutes, Taylor watched a master at work. She found herself answering questions about her powers, and her color preferences, and whether she preferred dusk or dawn. All the while, fabrics of varying types went on and off the mannequins.

It wasn't until late in the process that she began to see the patterns emerge.

One mannequin held dark red slacks and a matching vest that could be worn over any shirt Taylor cared for, with an off-white overcoat lined in gold. The mask was also off white with gold trim and was attached to a hood which would cover her hair and the upper half of her face.

The second mannequin looked much different. It was also comprised of the same dark crimson color, but bulged with pockets that held armor plating in key areas. The top was the same color as the slacks, but with a armored tactical vest over it that was black. It too came with a black overcoat in gold trim. The cut of the overcoat was identical, and though it was a different color Taylor could see the commonalities.

White and black. Healing and fighting.

"You try them on now."

Of course, there was no changing room. With a sigh, Taylor tried both costumes on. She was surprised to find that the fabric of both costumes was much thicker and sturdier than she first thought.

"What's the fabric made of?"

"Tinker polymers," Mrs. Kojima said. "Same as Protectorate uses. Very strong, can stop knives and bullets. Doesn't tear, fireproof. Mostly. Move around. Stretch. How does it feel?"

And _that_ explained the price, Taylor realized. Each costume felt good. Both were looser than she thought they would be and she said so.

"Of course. You young, will grow. Costumes have room for you to grow into."

"They're perfect."

Kojima nodded. "Of course."

Both costumes were packaged in dry-cleaning bags and labeled just like a dry-cleaner would. Attached were labels for each—which held the dry cleaning prices that Mrs. Kojima's shop charged. Each held a few simple black domino masks for every-day use.

Obsidian led her back to Mr. Ohlman's office.

"Got what you need?"

Taylor pulled the money from her back and placed it on the man's desk. "I did, thank you. I get that this put you in a tight spot. I don't want to be your enemy. I have enough of those already."

"That may not be my call," Ohlman said as he took the cash. "But in the meantime, good luck."

With that, Taylor walked out with her new costumes in hand.

* * *

A/N: As stated, Chap 10 is posted as well.


	10. Living the Dream

A/N: As stated in the previous chapter, the chapter lengths between this chapter and the last were off, so I'm posting both.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Living the Dream**

_Masquerade is not happy with us._

_Oldman will get over it. How much did he charge you?_

_5k. _

_Ouch. Like I said, we're not all nice people. That said, I have very highly ranked sponsors within the organization. If there's a problem, they should take it up with me or my sponsors, you should be fine. Have you decided on a cape name?_

_Quintessence._

_Nice. As in the classical Greek fifth element of unearthly perfection?_

Taylor looked at the text string on her phone for a moment before remembering that Entourage held a Ph.D. For all her youth, the woman was exceedingly intelligent and educated.

_Yeah._

_I like it. Good choice. I'll submit the SPCA license application today. You'll probably have to go in for an examination next week, but in costume you should be fine. Do you have everything else you need for now?_

She needed friends. She needed her family back. She needed her life back. Taylor shook her head and thumbed a reply. _I'm good, thank you for all your help._

_My pleasure, Darling. Talk to you soon._

With that essential communication done, Taylor turned to her project for that afternoon. She found herself with a laptop, a mobile hotspot, and a small gas-powered generator. The generator seemed wildly inefficient to her, and she had some ideas she thought could improve it, but for now she was more interested in getting online.

It took almost an hour to get the laptop and the mobile hotspot up and running. The hotspot used a pre-paid account and it looked like Entourage had paid for three months' worth of heavy data usage.

As soon as she had the generator going to charge the laptop and had the laptop updated, she went online to try and get some idea of what was happening in the world.

The various news sites all echoed the same message—things were falling apart. The Three Blasphemes had assassinated the Prime Minister of Belgium. The governor of Ohio, her entire family, and three hundred of her supporters were killed by the Slaughterhouse Nine despite efforts by the local Protectorate and PRT to save them. Four heroes and fifty-three PRT agents died trying to defend the governor, whose policies seemed key to reviving the state and possibly propelling the woman to the White House. The only good thing to come out of it was the death of two of the Slaughterhouse villains.

The Chinese Union-Imperial invaded Taiwan, forcibly enslaved the small nation's capes, and ruthlessly slaughtered the entire Taiwanese independence movement. No one cared. There were no talks of sanctions or reprisals or support from America or any other nation. It didn't even make front page news—it was buried in the International Section of BBC news. No American news outlet cared enough to talk about it.

On that same site, she read about how the last remaining functional government in sub-Saharan Africa collapsed when Ashbeast wondered slowly through the country's capital, vaporizing everything in his path. There were next to no causalities from the walking volcano because of how slowly he moved, and yet the fragile government could not survive the loss of its infrastructure and collapsed in a civil war that raged around the meandering monster. The lines of refugees fleeing the impossible creature and the war that seemed to follow him made for great content for the news sites. And yet, once again, there was no indication of any international aid.

The news sites made for a horrid comment on the world.

Taylor wanted more than anything to do a search on her name. However, she knew better than to risk it. Instead, she searched the Kill Order list the PRT put out. The Slaughterhouse Nine were at the top, as always. Jack Slash, the Siberian, Crawler, Bonesaw, Mannequin…those names gave even the strongest heroes nightmares. She scrolled down the list until she came to the end. Her name wasn't there.

Worried and a little confused, she searched PRT's Most Wanted List.

It read like a copy of the Kill Order list, but this time she found her name. The picture of her was from her last yearbook photo—a grainy, small color shot. Her lips were curled in a pathetic attempt at a smile she didn't feel, and even then she looked haunted. The PRT had digitally made her eyes black.

**TAYLOR ANNE HEBERT**

Wanted For Capital Murder With a Parahuman Ability; Mass Assault With a Parahuman Ability

**DESCRIPTION**

Date of Birth: June 19, 1995 Place of Birth: Brockton Bay, New Hampshire

Hair: Brunette Eyes: Black* (no visible sclera or pupil)

Sex: Female Race: White

Occupation: Student Nationality: American

Languages: English Distinguishing Marks: Pure black eyes

**REWARD**

**The PRT is offering a reward of up to $100,000 for information leading directly to the live arrest of Taylor Anne Hebert. **

**REMARKS**

Prior to her parahuman trigger, Hebert was described by school officials as a troubled loner with potentially suicidal tendencies following the death of her mother in a car accident two years prior. She did not participate in any after school activities and was not a member of any social groups.

**CAUTION**

Taylor Anne Hebert is wanted for the alleged murder of three fellow students (ages 15, 15 and 16) with a parahuman power, manslaughter for the death of five more students killed in a fire she started, and the assault of 1,600+ high school students, teachers and staff with a parahuman power.

Additionally, during initial attempts to detain her, Hebert used a parahuman ability to assault and severely injure multiple PRT agents and three Protectorate members. While in custody, Hebert used her parahuman ability to murder a senior Protectorate member.

After a lawful order sentencing Hebert to the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center, she used her power to damage her transport and master Air Force personnel at Grand Forks Air Force Base to facilitate her escape.

**SHOULD BE CONSIDERED ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS**

As authorized under Title 18 USC Chap 203, the PRT has classified Taylor Anne Hebert as an extreme danger to herself and others. Do not approach or interact with Hebert in any capacity. If you spot the suspect, call your nearest PRT office immediately.

\- PRT North-Northeast, Brockton Bay

"Suicidal?" she whispered. A corner of her mind stressed out how minor a point it was, and yet it still bothered more than anything else that that the school told the PRT she was suicidal. Suicide was the one thing she _never_ considered, even at the worst of her bullying.

She looked back over the page again, this time dwelling on the Reward section. _Live_ arrest, it said. It wasn't much, but at least there wasn't a kill order out on her. Even so, looking at her face on a wanted notice didn't just chill her. It filled her with a deep, driving rage. The fuckers took everything from her, and even after that they just wouldn't leave her alone.

She made a point of looking at a few other of the wanted parahumans on the list, hoping to obscure her interest in her own notice. However, she couldn't resist using the opportunity to look at Parahuman's Online, the largest dedicated Parahuman forum in the world. It took only moments to set up a throw-away account.

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards. **

You are currently logged in, Sleepless

You are viewing:

Threads you have replied to

AND Threads that have new replies

OR private message conversations with new replies

Thread OP is displayed.

Ten posts per page

Last ten messages in private message history.

Threads and private messages are ordered chronologically.

Topic: Winslow Simurgh

In: Boards ► News ► Events ►America

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Posted On Jan 10th 2011:

First confirmed use of telepathy in a cape outside of Simurgh and she fucking burns down her school, kills eight girls, knocks the entire school out, and then fucking kills the most popular hero in the city.

On the first day of school after Christmas Break, PRT and Protectorate responded to a parahuman event that burned down half of Winslow High School in good old Brockton Bay, NH, home of Nazis and Endbringer-fighting fire dragons. They found the entire student body, faculty and staff unconscious for nearly two hours. If not for PRT agents rushing in to drag kids out, the body count would have been a lot worse.

At the center of it, they found Taylor Hebert pretty much untouched surrounded by the remains of three other girls. When the agents tried to take her in, she used telekinesis and telepathy to not just knock them out, but to keep them out of commission for days, and then handed the Protectorate heroes their asses until Armsmaster managed to tranq her.

Three days later, after murdering Miss Militia while _in a level 10 containment room_, the Chief Director and the New Hampshire Superior Court signed off on her Birdcage Order.

Only, guess what? She escaped the transport at 40,000 feet going Mach 2!

► XxVoid CowboyxX (Winslow Survivor)

Replied on January 10, 2011:

It's a set up. I know Taylor, we sat together in classes and she was always nice to me. What the news isn't telling is that the girls who died were fucking with her hard. I heard they pushed her into her locker with a bunch of toxic shit and then just stood there laughing while she screamed to get out. I read that triggers make capes do weird things. If I'd been locked up like that and I triggered, I'd probably go nuts too.

► Psych Ward (Winslow Parent)

Replied on January 10th, 2011:

Does it matter? My daughter wasn't able to sleep for almost a week without waking up in the middle of the night screaming her head off about monsters and fire. She's not the only one. The PRT provided counseling for all the kids, and from what I've learned every single one of them have had severe traumatic flashbacks to the psychic attack Hebert caused. Whether she was abused or not, she hurt a lot of innocent kids. More importantly, she murdered Miss Militia. As far as this parent is concerned, she really is the Winslow Simurgh and deserves that Birdcage order.

So it went, entry after entry, in pages already numbering over a hundred, all condemning her for what happened at Winslow. Part of her wanted so much to start typing her side of the story. But if she did, she'd be telling the PRT right where she was. Not that it would help—telling the principal and teachers about the bullying didn't help at all. Why would telling people her side of the story help anything?

She backed out of PHO entirely and checked local news.

WINSLOW SIMURGH IN SEATTLE!

Her stomach clenched as she read about her brief stay in Bayview West hospital. The PRT caught everything on security cameras, including…

Taylor winced. She executed someone. There was no other way to say it—he was never a danger to her even as he held a gun to her head. The whole situation was just so frustrating, and she was hurting and angry that instead of getting credit for saving a hundred lives she was facing arrest, that Taylor simply lost control.

Another body to add to her count. Cursing, she turned the laptop off.

She spent the rest of the day making a list of things that might help make the place more livable. The note pad and packet of disposable pens she purchased from the Buy'n Large were invaluable.

As the sun set, she turned on one of the battery-powered lanterns and refilled the propane heater. Returning to the cot where she'd been making her list, she was surprised at what she'd drawn. It wasn't a list—it was a detailed diagram with script she'd never seen before, but could somehow read as if born to it. She stared at the diagram with a sense of increasing confusion.

Had she drawn this? She flipped the page from the molecular furnace she'd drawn and looked in shock at the next page, which carefully diagrammed out a lightsaber. Not just how to make it, but the chemical formulas of the various alloys and parts within. Page after page of alien script outlined details of technology that she could never have imagined.

Except…it was familiar. Though she hated thinking about that horrid day when her old life ended, she remembered the vision of the creatures in space. More than remembered—the knowledge felt like it had been branded into her skull with near digital quality. And with that information came unbelievable streams of technology beyond anything she had imagined before. Weapons and robots and cities that floated in space.

Just considering it made her eyes water and her head hurt.

"What am I?" she breathed aloud. "Am I a fucking tinker, too?"

The thought was interrupted by achime from her phone. She scrambled over to the pew where she'd set it while she cooked herself a hamburger patty on her camping grill for dinner.

It was Entourage.

_Great news! Your license application went through on a priority basis. PRT asked you to report to UW Medical Center Monday morning at 10 am for testing. You're officially listed as a corporate-sponsored rogue healer named Quintessence. If you pass, your license will be approved immediately._

Taylor's hands shook and she had to slow down because of typos. _Will you be there?_

_I can be if you need me. _

_Can be._ Not _Would be._ Taylor paused as she started to type in a desperate 'Yes, please!' and thought about the subtext of what Entourage said. There seemed to be an expectation there—similar to being sent to a store owned by a hostile party. There was an expectation of self-sufficiency.

_No, I should be fine. I'll text or call if I need anything._

_Great. Good luck!_

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor spent Sunday trying to make her space livable, and when she'd done as much as she could, she put on sunglasses, a baseball cap, and risked a trip out in her sedan to the local Goodwill for clothes, and then a grocery store for essential toiletries.

After all the running, fighting and fear, it felt odd to have a day…off.

Monday morning, though, felt different. Taylor woke early, cleaned up as best she could with the camping equipment, and then pulled on her new healing costume. Ready for the day, she climbed into her little economy car. She would like to have said she was getting comfortable driving, but the truth was she still felt nervous doing it. She especially felt odd driving in her new costume as she passed through the dead heart of old Seattle.

Taylor found herself remembering the first day of Mr. Gladly's World Affairs class. The day was remarkable only because Mr. Gladly began to class by screening Tony Borden's award-winning documentary _Surviving Seattle_ in class_._ Her mother was a huge fan of Borden, and so for that reason, if no others, she remembered the documentary very well.

The former chef turned documentarian was one of the lucky few to survive Leviathan's attack on the city. The film he made about the attack even won an Emmy.

Taylor, trying her best to ignore the spit balls Madison kept shooting at her, watched the blend of historical footage and recreations with the deep appreciation only the daughter of a literature professor could have. Borden might as well have been speaking in iambic pentameter, his narrative was so lyrical.

The attack occurred during the morning rush hour of April 1st, 2003, when a thirty-foot tall macro-hydrokinetic monster appeared without warning in Elliott Bay.

"_Pike Place Market was already under water when the first alarm began to wail_," Borden said, managing with that simple statement to convey the utter horror of the experience. "_I was on the sixth floor of the Crown Plaza. I heard the roar of the water first. Denny, my producer, grabbed the camera. Neither of us realized it would be one of the last things he ever did."_

The horizon to the east was glowing orange with the approach of day, but to the West it was dark. The footage Borden's producer caught didn't show water—it showed the darkness encroaching across the city, from Duwamish Head to the Marina, as the water wiped out power and all the structures in its way.

The first wave made it through downtown. The next ten waves swept over the entire isthmus, dumping millions of tons of salt water and debris into the fresh water of Lake Washington on the other side. The monster himself emerged just north of Mercer Street and began his rampage.

Because of the critical early hour and lack of warning, the first capes to respond did so without any coordination and died almost immediately.

Borden's mesmerizing narration summed it up better than any textbook could. "_By the time the Triumvirate arrived, almost one hundred thousand people, including Denny Tortini, were dead, and another two hundred thousand seriously wounded. It could have been even worse. I'm alive today because of Legend. The heroes saved as many people as they could, but they couldn't save the city. Either by accident, or more likely by design, the stresses Leviathan placed on the topography of the city resulted in one of the most powerful earthquakes the region had ever seen_."

Though few cameras caught Leviathan's arrival, several caught good shots of the monster, scarred and pitted from his battle with Eidolon, Legend and Alexandria, slipping back into Puget Sound as the city shook itself apart.

The rest of the documentary concentrated on the efforts of those that remained to rebuild the once great city despite bureaucratic stalling and middling interest in doing so from Washington. Like Newfoundland, the government considered Seattle a lost cause. Any shipping in the Northwest now routed through the port of Everett or south to Tacoma.

She thought of the documentary now as the bus drove on an overpass directly where Tony Borden's producer died.

Taylor saw a partially collapsed mountain of concrete in the middle of a scoured field of mud, cracked cement and several copses of young trees. A long finger of water pointed toward them, as if about to flick half of the crumbled stadium away.

She remembered from the documentary that the Seahawks used to play there, at the Kingdome. Now it, like the Seahawks, was gone. In fact, almost all of old Downtown Seattle was simply gone. The only thing new or intact was the highway which ran over and through the dead heart of the shattered city. Traffic slowed as the elevated highway collapsed down to two lanes each way. She could see cement columns and partial sections of the old highway rising from the apocalyptic vision of Seattle's corpse.

The scars Leviathan left were breath-taking. She saw towers literally torn in half, while others looked as if they'd been hit by cosmic baseball bats. Small lakes littered city blocks that once housed hotels and office buildings, while the famous Pike's Place Market was a roughly-hewn inlet now.

Eventually, though, she reached the relatively unscathed University District in the northern part of the city. The difference between north and south was startling, primarily because all the city, county and state administrative services moved north. That meant North Seattle had come a city in it's own right, propped up by various government agencies, while the economically devastated south and west side of the city continued to flounder.

The University of Washington Medical Center even had new construction going on—a tall structure that looked like it would add a lot of space to the exiting hospital.

It took a lot of slow driving and more than a few honking horns from impatient drivers before Taylor found the sign leading to an underground parking area across the wide street to the hospital itself.

Settled in a spot as slowly and carefully as she could, with only a minor tap of the front bumper against the garage wall, Taylor turned off the car's ignition and stared at the blank cement wall as she tried to gather her courage.

Her stomach felt like she was on a rollercoaster. She knew that police, the FBI and the PRT were all looking for her. And yet, wearing nothing but a silly costume and a mask, she expected to be able to walk out into the open and get a government license? The whole situation just seemed so ridiculous. The alarm on her phone dinged. She had five minutes.

"Come on. You can do this."

It took an act of will to climb out of the car. She wore her crimson slacks and vest over one of the plain white shirts she bought from the Buy'n Large. Fortunately, the off-white overcoat that Masquerade made for her was lined enough to provide some protection from the cold. With her hood and mask the car mirror confirmed that her face was sufficiently hidden.

With a deep, shaky sigh, Taylor sank herself deeply into the Force, extended the suggestion of obfuscation, and started walking quickly toward the medical center. Even with a projected field of indifference, Taylor herself felt odd walking amongst the crowds of people coming from or to the University hospital.

She fell in with them, depending on her power alone to not be noticed.

Until the time came when she had no choice. She stepped through the doors with a line of patients and family into a large, open lobby filled with light, steel and glass. Compared to the area she just left, it looked modern and rich and clean. The information desk stood across the large, crowded lobby.

Her phone told her it was time. With another shaky sigh, Taylor let her suggestion drop and started walking across the floor. At first, no one noticed. Slowly, though, people started subtly moving away. In today's society, wearing a mask was a statement. It was similar to wearing a gun in that someone in a mask had a power, and most powers somehow could be weaponized.

By the time she reached the information desk, the hundred or so people in the lobby were aware that a parahuman stood in their midst. Behind her mask, Taylor felt her cheeks burning. It was too late to change her mind, though. The moment she let people realize she was there, her course was set.

It appeared the only people not intensely aware of her were the couple at the desk in front of her. The man was just barely her height, with dark, curly hair and a long, arched nose. He was talking quickly and incessantly, while in the Force he projected jarring nervousness. The woman beside him was hugely pregnant. In the Force, Taylor could feel two sparks of brilliant, untainted new life within the woman's bulging stomach.

The mother was giving her information to get checked in while the nervous young father looked around the room until he spotted Taylor and snorted. "What's with the mask?"

He was so completely wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn't make the connection everyone else in the room did at a glance. He sounded disbelieving and even insulting. An odd thing happened, then. All Taylor's fear and self-consciousness just dried up in the face of this man's sarcasm. She responded in kind.

"I'm so scary I'll drive you mad without it," she said dryly.

The man snorted again. "Right, kid. You supposed to be a cape or something?"

"Or something."

"What's your power? Filing?"

"I could show you, but then the PRT would be after me. Who needs that kind of attention? Besides, you're going to be busy enough with your twins, you don't need to pick a fight with a cape."

The man stopped smiling, and his wife turned to look at Taylor in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Taylor scanned the woman almost instinctively.

"They're perfectly healthy. The girl is going to be around six pounds. The boy will be around five pounds. Your blood pressure is a little high, but you'll be fine. Your husband, however, has tar in his lungs, and an arrhythmia in his heart. If he wants to see his kids graduate, he needs to stop smoking those cigars and see a cardiologist."

The wife turned and glared at her husband. "You told me you stopped six months ago!"

"But Alessa, you can't…."

She grabbed his coat. "Come on." She led her husband away toward admissions, talking firmly to him the entire time she waddled.

The three people behind the desk were staring wide-eyed at Taylor as she took a step forward.

"Quintessence. My corporate contact scheduled an appointment with a Doctor White at 10 am for a parahuman healing license."

The older of the three frowned. "White…oh, yeah. The PRT doctor. They…have a license for that?"

"I hope so. Otherwise I got all dressed up for nothing."

The man laughed. "I got it, it's on the PRT registry. I've sent the message. A PRT agent will be down shortly to escort you up."

Taylor nodded, suddenly nervous again. She didn't realize there would be PRT agents. She drifted away from the desk, once more aware of all the people staring at her. Wherever she went, people subtly drifted away, trying to keep a safe distance as if she were radioactive.

The PRT agent who arrived was wearing blue nurse's scrubs instead of heavy armor. She looked briefly around the room until she saw Taylor's mask and smiled.

"Quintessence? Hi, I'm Rachel Bends with PRT. Pleasure to meet you."

She offered a hand which Taylor took after only a moment's hesitation. "You don't look like a PRT agent."

"I'm an RN first, PRT agent second," Rachel said. "Doctor White is this way, if you'll follow me?"

Rachel led Taylor through a dizzying array of hallways to an interior maze cut off from the rest of the hospital by a thick wall, a solid steel door, and a security cubicle secured behind what Taylor suspected was bullet-proofed glass. A fully uniformed and armed PRT agent sat at the desk behind the glass.

"Ralph, this is Quintessence for her 10 o'clock."

The agent looked Taylor up and down with a blank face. "Are you carrying any weapons or devices?"

"Just my phone." She fished it out of her jacket to show him.

"Under the scanner, please."

Frowning behind her mask, Taylor held the phone under a Tinker-made scanner. She saw no response, but the agent nodded. "Very well, you're clear."

The door opened with a buzzing sound. Not nearly as confident as she was a moment before, Taylor followed Rachel into the PRT section of the hospital. Which…looked a lot like a typical ER.

When Taylor first heard the name Yvonne White, her imagination painted an image of a tall, Nordic beauty with blonde hair, chiseled cheeks, icy blue eyes and a chest that could crack glaciers. What she was met with was a short, squat black woman who barely reached Taylor's chin and looked vaguely familiar.

She had a much friendlier smile than Taylor would have imagined, as well. "You're Quintessence then?" She bustled over and offered a hand which Taylor shook. "I'm Doctor White, pleasure to meet you. I'd introduce you to my colleagues, but protocols say no names. So, tell me about your powers."

She also spoke very fast.

"Um, well, I can sense illness or pain. And I can use my power to encourage the body to heal itself really fast."

The doctor nodded, removed a little spiral notebook and made a few notes. "I see. Do you have to touch the patient?"

"No, not really."

"Do you think you could use your power to change someone's body?"

Taylor frowned. "No, I don't think so. My power…prefers health, I guess you'd say? Changing what should be doesn't feel like it would work. Otherwise, I'd…" She gestured to her chest. "You know?"

Dr. White looked down at a very prodigious chest and laughed. "Believe it or not, yeah. These suckers are a strain on the back. How about severed limbs? Could you regrow a severed limb?"

"I don't believe so, but I've never tried. I think I could help reattach a limb, but I couldn't just make them grow a new limb. Sorry, I'm not Panacea."

The doctor raised a brow. "Not many people around here know that name."

Taylor's heart stilled a moment before she forced herself to breathe. She suddenly remembered where she'd seen the doctor before and almost bolted out of the hospital. This was the woman at Bayview West, the doctor who was with Nutcracker.

It took every ounce of control she had to take a deep breath and force herself to be calm. "I researched healing capes when I realized what I could do. She was mentioned by name in half the articles I read about the SPC Act. She's never had to get a license because she doesn't charge."

The doctor nodded. "I could see that—she's the most powerful healer in the world as far as we know. Okay, so here's what we're going to do. We have five patients in separate rooms. Each has a separate malady we're going to ask you to heal to the best of your ability. I will be asking questions the entire time to get a feeling for your power. Healing capes often have a very narrow specialty or limitation, and the goal of this exercise is to find yours. Do you understand?"

Taylor nodded.

"Very good. Let's get started, shall we?"


	11. The Price of Coffee Beans

A/N: Chap 9 and 10 review responses are on my forums like normal. I also made some corrections in both chapters, because while typos are one thing, actually mixing up OC names is a boneheaded editorial mistake that legitimately needs to be fixed. And now-I present you a chapter in which the authorities are not idiotic, mustache-twirling villains.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The Price of Coffee Beans**

Assistant Director Dan Seneca stepped into the secured teleconference room with his laptop tucked under his left arm and two cups of coffee held precariously in the other. Given the cost of coffee beans, he'd long ago given up on the good stuff and now considered himself lucky to get a cup of anything hot and reasonably caffeinated.

He set up quickly, aware of the tension in the air. He strongly suspected he was going to be witness to a hero getting chastised at best, possibly dismissed at worst. The news all weekend had already crucified the Seattle PRT and Protectorate because of the massacre at the Industrial West area. But then to find out that the Winslow Simurgh was not only at Bayview West, but that a Protectorate member let her walk out unscathed?

Granted, Nutcracker wasn't technically Protectorate, but the people didn't care.

It was no surprise that Director Foote was in a mood when she called him in early that morning. The cape responsible for letting Hebert escape then compounded his error by skipping right over the Seattle Protectorate to bring in a strike team from Los Angeles.

Dan knew that Fume, Gasconade's second in the Seattle Protectorate office, despised the capes of the LA Protectorate with a passion. Having Nutcracker call in such a team to Seattle was a slap in the face for Fume and the entire Seattle Protectorate.

He'd just logged into his laptop when Foote stepped into the meeting, talking on her cell.

"…assure you that we are taking every step, Governor. Our first priority is and always has been public safety. In fact I'm stepping into a meeting right now with the Chief Director and Alexandria regarding the Bayview West Incident. Yes, I most certainly will. Thank you."

Patricia Foote, Director of the PRT West-Northwest Seattle, looked like a grandmother. Not the slim, elegant grandmother you'd see on a soap opera. More like someone's cynical view of Mrs. Clause. Wide-bodied to the edge of obesity, with a huge bouffant of white hair held in place with industrial-levels of hairspray that might very well have been bullet proof, Patricia wore easily five pounds of garishly colored costume jewelry around her neck and wrists in the form of necklaces and bracelets.

Given she made Assistant Director in the FBI before switching to the PRT in an era that very much made it twice as hard for a woman to succeed, Dan Seneca also knew the woman was as smart as a tack and tougher than nails. Possibly even tougher than the hair she took such perverse pride in.

"Well, I'm certainly earning my salary this morning," she said dryly. "Dan, how's the family? Still adorable?"

"Always, Director."

"Trust me, that'll change when your girl hits twelve to thirteen. They go from adorable to raging hormonal psychopath so quickly." She sounded wistful, as if she missed the psychopathy days.

He handed her the second cup. She stared a moment before beaming. "There's a reason Armstrong recommended you. Thank you!"

With his boss handled, Dan grabbed a separate wireless keyboard and mouse and began bringing up the room's teleconferencing system. The large wall monitor opposite them blinked and in moments they found themselves looking at Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown in the national DC PRT office.

"Good morning, Patricia, Dan," the Chief Director said primly.

She had a fairly deep, powerful voice for a woman. She had about a decade on Dan, but wore it better than pretty much anyone he knew. Hers was not a magazine beauty—rather, she projected a sense of strength and striking appearance that simply demanded respect from all those who met her. He always thought she should be in uniform, with lots of insignia on her lapels.

"Rebecca," Foote said with a casual nod. "How did the subcommittee meeting go this weekend? I wasn't able to catch the coverage."

"Senator Hollings has decided to restart her crusade to register and restrict Parahumans."

Dan sat up in alarm. "Really? I thought that movement died in committee last year."

"It did. Then the committee members heard about a telepathic murderer tearing her way out of Dragon's transport and later walking unhindered out of a hospital," Costa-Brown said dryly.

_Oh._ Dan almost felt sorry for Nutcracker.

The door to the conference room opened and the last two members of the meeting entered. Nutcracker himself looked thin, but the kind of thin that followed after rapid weight loss. He had loose skin around neck and jaw and carried himself as if he were still unaccustomed to his new weight. Otherwise he was unremarkable in appearance—thinning auburn hair, a weak chin and a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth. He was, as far as Dan was concerned, a one-trick pony. His post-cognition was very effective in solving crimes, but he had no other powers.

Technically he wasn't even Protectorate. Nutcracker was part of Watchdog, the Protectorate's internal Thinker group dedicated to protecting the United States from all Thinker-class parahuman threats both internal and external. They held the dual roles of protecting the country's economy and acting as an informal Internal Affairs division for the Protectorate. They answered directly to Alexandria, rather than Legend in New York.

Which probably explained why Alexandria herself was the last to enter, following a step behind Nutcracker.

Dan had only met Alexandria twice before today, and just like those two times, her entrance into the room was memorable. For one, she wore a tight body suit of charcoal gray that hugged the curves of a tall, athletic, frankly perfect female body. The helmet hid her nose and eyes behind a dark gray, pointed visor, but left the firm, unyielding line of her mouth exposed. In years of fighting Endbringers and villains, she'd only been injured once—in their first fight against the Siberian. It was that same fight that the world lost Hero, who, along with Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon, helped form the Protectorate in the first place.

In point of fact, the 'Code Zebra' Nutcracker invoked two nights ago was a direct reference to the unstoppable, naked, zebra-striped cannibal called the Siberian.

"Good morning, Becky," Alexandria said with a casual nod to the monitor. She smirked a little as she did so, and Dan couldn't help but wonder if it was a casual swipe at the Chief Director. The rumors among the ranks was that the two did not get along, which might explain why they were never seen in the same room, ever. Dan thought the rumor plausible—they were so alike he could see them like powerful, positive magnets repulsing each other just because of their many similarities.

If she was irritated, Costa-Brown didn't show it.

"Alexandria, Nutcracker. First, thank you Director Foote for hosting this inquest."

_Inquest_. Dan looked to watch as Nutcracker sat with a nervous glance at Alexandria. The heroine didn't appear concerned as she too sat, taking only a moment to flair out the stiff tinker-made fabric of her cape before doing so.

"Before we begin, I just want to make sure we're aware of the severity of what happened at Bayview West this last weekend," Costa-Brown continued. "Yesterday, the House subcommittee held a hearing about the, and I quote, 'Parahuman threat'. This morning, I received a summons to testify before the Joint Committee on Parahuman Affairs. I have a meeting with the AG before that, and a briefing with the President shortly after. The general consensus is that Hebert should be in the Birdcage right now. I am facing a great deal of angry incredulity that a wounded cape in a hospital, surrounded by PRT agents, was allowed by a Protectorate hero to walk out uncontested. With that, we can begin."

Director Foote nodded as Costa-Brown spoke, though it was less in agreement and more about acknowledging the points the younger woman made.

"Thank you, Chief Director," she said. "Nutcracker, while you are not technically a part of mine or Gasconade's team, you've been a valuable presence here in Seattle for several years now. I would like you to explain why you declared a Code Zebra."

Nutcracker cleared his throat. A lot. Finally, he nodded.

"I declared a Code Zebra, ma'am, because based on what I just witnessed in the Industrial Park area of West Seattle, I did not believe we had the resources to detain Hebert, even injured. The attempt would have at best led to a PR nightmare a thousand times worse than what we're seeing, and at worst an excessive loss of life of all of our personnel and any civilians caught in the way. By letting her go, the only casualty was a Tekiya foot soldier who made the mistake of trying to take her hostage because he thought the police and PRT were there for him. There was no way we could win once she woke, and so I let her go with the intent of following. I contacted Alexandria personally to request additional assistance to track her."

Dan found himself trying to wrap his head around what the man was saying.

"So, you're telling us that one of our top PRT containment teams would not have been sufficient to detain her?"

Nutcracker shook his head. "With respect, Assistant Director, I'm saying the entirety of the Seattle PRT and Protectorate combined do not have sufficient assets to take her into custody. You could have mustered all ten of our containment teams and every cape in the city, and she most likely would have won. All the numbers would have done was forced her to use lethal takedowns, like she did with the Russians."

Dan leaned back in his seat, a little numb from the other man's declaration. Alexandria sat silent, not even looking at her subordinate.

Patricia sipped her coffee. "Well, this sounds interesting. After you ran off with Fume's motorcycle, we were left with our own devices and determined the West Seattle massacre was a result of an intrusion of Elite against the Bratva. You're implying that's not the case?"

"Correct, Director. As you know, Console requested my presence at the old Industrial District West area of south Seattle. SAC Peabody and Gasconade both thought it was a gang battle between the Saltykovkoya Bratva and either the Tekiya, or possibly even the Elite. Close to a hundred heavily armed Russian soldiers were found dead on or around a converted research vessel, along with five members of the Saltykovkoya Bratva. There was evidence of a machine gun cannon on site.

"Police recovered nearly a hundred kidnapped teenagers from the hold of the ship. Almost all of them were subjected to repeated sexual assaults as part of an international sex slavery ring. PRT also found three of the Bratva permanently incapacitated, with two more dead. Upon arriving, my postcognition learned that what we saw was not the result of a gang battle. The Saltykokoya Bratva inadvertently kidnapped Taylor Hebert as part of the sex slavery ring. I don't know if she was assaulted prior to gaining consciousness, but as soon as she did regain consciousness, she killed them. All of them."

Dan started to process what that meant. Foote grasped it immediately.

"So, this one fifteen-year-old girl killed almost a hundred heavily armed soldiers and beat the snot out of five older, experienced capes all by herself? Dan, we've run into the Bratva before, having we?"

"Unfortunately, yes, Director. Saltykovkoya's master power especially proved…problematic. That was the battle where Tunguska blew Gasconade so far into the Sound it took him two days to reach the shore."

"Exactly," Nutcracker said. "Hebert wiped the floor with them. I'm still drawing up the diagrams and computer animation, but what my postcognition showed me was a young girl making one-shot, one-kill use of multiple handguns. She only killed with her power when she had to, otherwise she used whatever weapons were available. In fighting the Bratva capes, she displayed what I would have to call pre-cognition. She was able to predict where a teleporter would be accurately enough to shoot her. And then she displayed an almost Simurgh-level telekinesis and crushed the ship's tower like an aluminum can. She used the same power to rip open the steel doors where the Bratva held their captives."

"But she was at Bayview West, so she was hurt, right?" Dan asked. "That mean's she's not completely untouchable."

Nutcracker shook his head. "One of the captive girls triggered during the fight—Hebert was affected like all parahumans and momentarily fell into a trance. She was shot during that episode. Even so, she went on to kill several more soldiers before she freed the kids, and then healed an underage shooting victim."

This time even Alexandria sat up.

"Healed? You didn't mention that. This girl can heal too?"

"The PRT CMO was onsite and before she realized who we had, said Hebert was likely a six or seven on the Stansfield-Manton scale. Those were gut-shots she healed."

"So, you called a Code Zebra because she was threatening to kill everyone in the hospital?" Dan asked.

Nutcracker shook his head. "May I?"

He queried Foote, who merely nodded. With that permission, Nutcracker reached behind him to the second of the two wireless mouse and keyboard sets tied to the room's computer. He quickly brought up security camera footage of a hospital ER.

From the angle of the wide-screen camera, Hebert looked small and wounded. She was hunched over slightly and clutching a satchel over one shoulder.

Through the security camera's built-in microphone, they heard a young, scared-sounding voice speaking.

"_If you let me walk out of here, nobody gets hurt_. _If you make me fight, people will die. I don't' want to go to the Birdcage. Like I told Dragon, I'd rather die first. Compared to that, killing you fuckers is easy._"

Dan might not have been a Thinker, but he'd been in law enforcement enough to sniff out a lie. The girl was terrified, and was using bluster to try and avoid a fight.

"…_If you surrender peacefully, you can have your day in court_."

Dan's mind drifted a little through Nucracker's speech, but the girl's response definitely caught his attention. What he heard was utter, heart-breaking despair. It sounded like she was talking through tears.

"_Day in court? People are fucking terrified of me. They don't care about guilt or innocence, they'd shove me into that hell just because of what I could do. No thank you. You're all liars. You fuckers killed my dad. I won't let you kill me. Now move, or I'll make you move_."

"You didn't declare the Code Zebra to save our people, you declared it for her."

Alexandria's voice made Dan jump. There was no doubt, no question. She stated the fact, and having stated it Dan had no choice but to accept the truth of it.

Nutcracker evidently felt the same. "In part, yes. That said, I have no doubt she could easily have walked out no matter how much we threw at her. Most likely she would not have killed anyone, but by attempting to detain her we would continue to feed into her very justifiable feelings of persecution. Instead, I let her go and followed her ghost at a safe distance. While most people's echoes fade after a few days, Hebert's ghost is nearly incandescent to my power. I imagine if when I get to Brockton Bay, I'll be able to see her echoes with ease."

"Please continue, Nutcracker." That came not from Foote, but from Costa-Brown.

"Yes, Director. While the bureaucracy turned to get me a strike team, I followed her to a motel. She slept in a stolen car, then broke into a guest room for clothes. Unfortunately, the family arrived as she was doing so."

Dan hadn't heard that at all. "Are they okay?"

"The son got an eyeful when they walked in on her changing, but she didn't hurt them," Nutcracker said. "In fact, the mother dressed Hebert's gunshot wound without compulsion. Hebert locked them in their bathroom, took some food, a set of clothes, and a drink, and drove north. She tried to convince them she was heading to Mexico, but the mother informed me that Hebert was not a very good liar.

"Unfortunately, we lost her late that night."

Dan and Foote shared a look. "You just said she was incandescent to your power," Dan pointed out.

"She was. Until she was led into a café by a presence that left no trace to my power. Her ghost disappeared and was replaced a second later by another that looked identical for thirty minutes, before that presence faded. In that half hour, I lost her."

Costa-Brown directed a scathing look not at Nutcracker, but at Alexandria. "Chameleon?"

"Most likely," Alexandria agreed. "Which means the Elite has her."

"What a coincidence," Foote said dryly. "Esterella Corporation just sponsored a young woman for her healing license at UW Medical Center this morning by the name of Quintessence. Esterella is one of the Elite's cells, isn't it?"

This time Nutcracker looked surprised. "Let me guess. A seven on the Stansfield-Manton scale?"

"A six, actually," Foote said. She perched a pair of reading glasses on the end of her round nose and looked at her phone. "For 'non-intrusive healing of most trauma and illnesses. Licensee was found not to be effective on congenital issues or cancers.' I imagine if she could have cured cancer or replaced limbs, she'd be higher."

Dan couldn't help himself. "Damn."

Parahuman Healers were considered a national asset. Licensed healers even more so. For this girl to have so many powers…

"What is this girl?" Dan couldn't help but ask. "Telepathy, telekinesis? We saw that blaster power in Montana against Narwhal. Precognition? And now healing? How can she have so many powers?"

"She's likely a Trump of some kind," Alexandria explained. "Quite often when one cape is nearby the trigger event of another, the new cape has a trump ability. Otherwise, she's an unusually powerful grab-bag cape. It's not unheard of it. That's one of the reasons I'm sending Nutcracker to Brockton Bay."

There were only a handful of capes that seemed to have so many powers. Among them were Eidolon, the most powerful cape behind Scion himself, and Glastig Uaine, a cape who could rip powers out of other capes for her own use, or harvest the powers of capes who were already dead. Eidolon ran a Protectorate Team in Houston and was one of the Triumvirate. Glastig Uaine was in the Birdcage voluntarily, since no one could have defeated her, possibly not even Eidolon himself.

"What do we do?" Dan finally asked.

He looked around the table from face to face. It was Foote who finally answered.

"We do nothing. Cape politics, Dan. There's nothing to publicly link Quintessence to Hebert. If we unmask her, we risk the Endbringer truce."

The Endbringer Truce. When Dan jumped ship from the flailing FBI to the PRT, that was one of the first and most important lessons drilled into him. The truce was why parahuman gangs were allowed to exist in the first place. Because only Parahumans had a chance to hold off Endbringers. The only reason any part of Seattle still stood was because of the twenty-five villain capes who joined the local heroes to slow Leviathan down before the Triumvirate arrived. Half of those villains died in the process. More than half of all the capes fighting died.

"If nothing else, we now have a healer in Seattle for the very first time," Nutcracker said. "And if I recall, Assistant Director, we have a new Ward on the list for emergency parahuman healing. Perhaps…we should take advantage of a bad situation?"

Dan found himself staring at the post-cog Thinker with a gaping jaw. "You're suggesting we take Ashwinder to the Winslow Simurgh for healing?"

Nutcracker shrugged. "Since I've lost her, the most recent intelligence we have is that Hebert is fleeing south to Mexico. No, I'm suggesting you take her to Quintessence, whenever that young cape starts offering her services publicly."

Before anyone could say anything else, Alexandria cleared her throat.

"For the record, Becky, Patricia, Nutcracker was in communication with me within minutes after the Bayview West incident. I approved the call—based on the Industrial Park incident, a fight in the hospital would have been a disaster. At the end of the day, he is Watchdog."

Costa-Brown made a point of shuffling paper. "I should have been informed of this sooner."

"Agreed, and my apologies," Alexandria said without a hint of regret. "To you as well, Patricia. It was a quickly evolving situation. Regardless, I stand by Nutcracker's decision, and have authorized him as the head of Watchdog to take over the Hebert investigation, both here and at Brockton Bay. I'm sure you'll agree that the PRT ENE's lack of progress is a concern."

Costa-Brown pursed her lips before nodding. "Yes. I agree. Very well, thank you all for your time." The connection ended abruptly.

"So that's what I tell the Governor and Mayor?" Foote said. She didn't sound challenging, simply curious. "She's going to Mexico?"

"Yes," Alexandria said. "According to the last intelligence we had, Hebert was heading south to Mexico. I recommend we sell it, as well. APBs for the PRT, FBI and police for all points between here and the border. And in the meantime, we will keep our eyes on this Quintessence. The moment she gives us an excuse…I'm only minutes away if I push myself. Not even that if Strider's available to teleport me."

With a final nod to Foote and Dan, the heroine stood and walked calmly out of the secure room. Nutcracker stood afterward, smiled weakly at the two PRT officials, before he followed her out.

In the silence that remained, Dan found himself studying his new superior. "Why does it feel like we just watched a stage play?"

Foote regarding him in silence for a moment. He noticed that, with her lips pursed the way they were, that she was likely a smoker for most of her life. She just had the wrinkles that came with smoking.

"You're going to do well here when I retire, Dan," she finally said. "Smelling the bullshit is half the battle. Knowing when to step in it and when not to is the other half. Well, we have our marching orders."

"Ma'am?"

"As soon as Quintessence pops her head up to start healing, take Ashwinder in. The list for Panacea is eighteen months long and the girl's family doesn't allow her to travel. From what Dr. White told me, our newest Ward may not survive that long."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The very next morning, Nutcracker wore his WDGEG badge on display as the taxi he took from the Brockton Bay airport drove away. Ahead, the burned shell of Winslow High School sat empty, framed by yellow police tape and orange cones. He stepped under the tape to the front door. It was unlocked—down the far hall he could see men in orange HAZMAT suits talking with someone in a hard hat.

From the initial report, the fire had exposed Asbestos in the walls. It wasn't a surprise, really, since the school's last major renovation was just after the second World War.

He ignored the insurance adjusters and remediation specialists and instead walked up the stairs to the second floor—the floor where Taylor Hebert's life collapsed, and where eight other girls died.

From what he understood, the city still planned to use portions of the school due to severe crowding issues with the other schools. The lost space was made up using portable structures that crowded the parking lot, or so he'd read.

He removed his phone and dialed PRT main number. "_PRT, how can I help you_."

"Good morning. My name is Nutcracker, Protectorate ID GDG-87655. I am currently at Winslow High School and would like to request PRT transportation back to your HQ in half an hour. I would also like to schedule an appointment with Director Piggot. She should be expecting me."

With his Protectorate ID number, the PRT agent knew he was part of Watchdog, an agency that, while fighting to keep Thinkers from influencing elections or stock markets, also acted as internal investigations within the Protectorate and PRT.

"_Understood, Nutcracker. Welcome to Brockton Bay. Transport requested. Is there anything else I can do for you?"_

"No, thank you."

With transportation handled, Nutcracker began walking down the hall. The smell of burned metal, charred wood and dust lingered with the cold and the snow that filtered through the holes overhead.

The air itself trembled with the ghosts of tens of thousands of students. It was the one shining most brilliantly, though, that he was interested in.

Just as he suspected, something about Taylor Hebert shone brilliantly in his Post Cognition. It felt almost as if she changed the very world she passed through in a way other capes or mundanes simply didn't.

There was no trace of the locker he saw in his vision in the real world. The walls around it had been shattered as if by an explosion. But with his power, despite the time that had passed, he could see easily enough what happened. The psychic energy involved must have been astonishing.

He watched as the taller and more muscular of the three girls struck and then violently shoved the otherwise tall, lanky girl into the thin, five-foot locker that was a throw-back to the 50s. Though his power did not provide smell, he could still catch a hint of the rot from the pads and tampons within just from the hall around him.

More importantly, he saw how the physically more powerful girl closed the door over her own hand, somehow phasing it through her own flesh, to ensure that the victim could not escape. That girl was a cape—likely the Ward called Shadow Stalker. He'd read that the local PRT chose not to list her cape name as a victim to protect her family, instead listing her only by her civilian name—Sophia Hess.

He fast-forwarded the ghosts, which he considered one of the most useful aspects of his power. He was able to skip several hours, watching while students and staff alike traversed the halls. Hebert had to have been making noise—calling for help or banking on the locker. The initial report showed she'd almost ripped the fingernails from her hands as she struggled to escape.

The three girls remained close by, lingering between classes to bask in the delight of causing their victim harm. None of that was in the PRT ENE's report. According to the report, Hebert simply cracked under peer pressure and lashed out.

What truly upset Nutcracker were the several staff members who simply ignored what was happening.

And then it happened.

With his precognition, a Trigger Event looked like a massive heat bloom in a thermal scope. It was an event that slipped outside of his power's ability, and so it looked to him like an expanding sphere of white. It bloomed from within the girls' locker in a flash. Seconds later, the locker itself exploded, raining shrapnel through the hall, and through the three girls who'd skipped their last class to gloat.

He could see the strongest of her tormentors—the cape who was likely Shadow Stalker—staggering from the Trigger Event. Such events affected nearby capes as well as the newly created one. Distracted as she was, she was not able to use her power to save herself from the shard of twisted metal which pierced her skull like a bullet. The other two girls fared little better.

Concussive force blasted away walls and the ceiling and floor. The girl hung suspended in the air, her hands to her head as she screamed. Her face was twisted with a soul-deep sense of agony. Her trigger was hurting her badly. The fire that bloomed around her left her untouched within the shell of her power, even as five of the girls who'd been incapacitated by the initial psychic scream burned. When the PRT and Protectorate arrived, she swatted them away almost without noticing, such was her pain.

Until the white bloomed again. Nutcracker stifled his shock as he watched her go through a second trigger of her power. She then fell through the hole in the floor to the first floor below, where she collapsed unconscious just in time for Armsmaster to cover her in foam and tranquilize her. The report said Armsmaster subdued her. The reality was he took advantage of her unconsciousness.

It did not surprise Nutcracker at all when the present, very real, Armsmaster stomped down the charred hallway behind him.

"I was surprised to hear you were in Brockton Bay," the renowned Tinker said sharply. "What can I do for Watchdog today?"

Nutcracker smiled as he turned to face the man.

"Good morning, Armsmaster. I'm heading up a taskforce investigating the Hebert case. Could you please provide me transport to her home? I'll also need all Protectorate surveillance of Hebert while she was in your custody. I expect to meet with Director Piggot later today. I have a lot of work to do, and Alexandria expects quick results."

Armsmaster just stared at him with his jaw jutting out stubbornly.

It was, Nutcracker predicted, going to be a long day.

* * *

A/N-Dan Seneca and Director Foote are names I picked from Weaver Dice campaigns that I didn't actually read. So if I mis-characterized them, please consider them AU. Thank you.


	12. Boat Girl

A/N Chap 11 review responses are in my forums as normal.

* * *

**Arc 2: The Fugitive**

**Chapter Twelve: Boat Girl**

_Subject: Boat Girl_

_I found some clothes, but our roommate is still down about everything. Owe you for your help. Meet?_

_Send Message,_

_Naked_

Taylor wasn't sure what brought her to the comments section of the PHO message boards. No, that wasn't true. She was on PHO because even after hours of cleaning, the so-called lobby of her clinic still looked like a room inside an abandoned, flood-ravaged dump.

She'd used muscle and power alike to empty all of the crushed desks and chairs out of the three old classrooms of the church annex she planned to convert into her clinic. She'd used the broom, ice scraper and dust pan she bought from the Buy'n Large as much as she could and stripped out most of the thick coating of mud from the floor, but she couldn't deny that the walls were ruined and the windows were gone.

Entourage told her they planned to drop an add on PHO in just two days, and Taylor had no clinic.

So, after six solid-hours of back-breaking work with almost nothing to show for it, she took a break for her first meal of the day, and tooled around on her lap top and mobile hotspot as she ate hotdogs and a can of barely-seasoned green beans.

She started with a search about what the local press now called the Industrial West massacre. Surprisingly, the networks kept her role out of it. The official word from the PRT was a gang battle, likely between elements of the Elite and a Russian smuggling ring.

The list of Russian capes killed or injured spawn several pages of comments from people wondering if Bastard Son of the Elite had struck again. The word on Bastard Son was that if you had a machine gun, and you were up against a little girl with a spoon that Bastard Son had given her, you were better off shooting yourself, because no matter what you were screwed.

It was in that same comments section that Taylor found the message. She had no doubt the message was from Yuki, the little Asian girl from their cell. And their roommate could only have been Maria. Taylor distinctly remembered healing Maria's gunshot wounds, but as she thought of it she remembered that the girl also took a vicious beating to her head.

"I'm probably going to regret this," Taylor muttered.

She sent a private message and blinked in surprise when she got an immediate response:

_Boat Girl:_ _What was the roommates name?_

_Naked: Maria. What was the last thing you told me before you passed out?_

_Boat Girl: Shut up and go get dressed._

_Naked: It is you! Can we meet? I need to talk to you. Please?_

_Boat Girl: About what?_

_Naked: Maria. She's in a coma. Her parents have no money, the hospital is threatening to remove her life support._

_Boat Girl: But I healed her._

_Naked: The gun shots. The Russians hit her so much in the head she has brain damage. She's my best friend, I don't know what to do._

_Boat Girl: Do her parents know about me?_

_Naked: They know a cape healed her. They don't speak English, so I'm not sure how much more they know. But they'd say yes if you offered._

Taylor considered her circumstances. In a box near her computer was five hundred brand new business cards which arrived in her rented mail box ten blocks south of the Exclusion Zone that morning. She picked them up while hunting for cleaning supplies. The number on the cards went to a second burner phone.

She was about to have an advertisement dropped on PHO, but what better advertising could she have than Quintessence healing a girl from a coma in a hospital?

_Boat Girl: Is she still at the same hospital? Bayview West?_

_Naked: Yes. Will you come?_

A glance at the clock showed it was five in the afternoon.

_Boat Girl: Tell the family I'll be there at 6 pm tonight. We'll discuss payment when I get there. I understand they don't have money. I'm willing to barter._

_Naked: THANK YOU! I'll let them know._

For only the second time, Taylor wore her healing costume that night. The sky was already growing dark as she pulled out of her collapsed garage and started driving south. By the time she reached the hospital parking lot, only the faintest hints of color hovered over the ocean to the west. She pulled on her mask, took a shaky breath that sent vapor into the cold, brittle air, and started toward the main entrance of the hospital.

According to Yuki, Maria's family was supposed to have someone waiting there with Yuki herself. Just like at UW Medical, the moment she walked in and let her obfuscation drop, everyone within the lobby of steel and glass became intimately aware they had a cape in their midst.

The tiny slip of an Asian girl who half-ran toward her from one of the islands of guest seating barely even reached Taylor's shoulders. In the clear light of the hospital lobby, she looked almost boyish in how straight her body was—no hips nor chest to speak of. The only feminine thing about her was the perfectly around, almost porcelain-doll perfection of her face.

She was grinning manically. "Are you…um…what…?"

"You can call me Quintessence," Taylor said. She tried to sound calm and self-assured, but she wasn't sure how well she succeeded. "And you?"

"Um…Yuki Ishikawa. Come on, I'll introduce you to Maria's brother Raul."

Raul wore jeans, worn sneakers and a sweater that was so old the white had turned to grey, and all the lettering she could see once filled it had faded to occasional splotches of incoherent color. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't thin either. He had a full head of rich, black hair in need of a trim, and enough whiskers on his lip to give the illusion of a mustache.

He stood only two inches taller than she did. "You the healing cape?"

His parents may not have spoken English, but Raul had only the barest of accents. "Yeah."

"Okay. Doc said you had to sign something about consultations or something. We don't have much money to pay, though."

"What does your family do?" Taylor fell in behind the young man, while Yuki trailed behind.

"Dad's a handyman. He was a General Contractor in Mexico City before Behemoth burned it down."

Taylor almost missed a step. "That's a coincidence. My clinic's due to open in a few days now and it's still a dump. It's north of the Exclusion Zone. Would he be willing to restore it for the cost of materials only? In return or my healing his daughter?"

"He'd do anything. For any of us," Raul said. That seemed to be the end of negotiation.

They didn't get much further than the information desk before a pair of fully-decked out PRT agents stepped into the lobby on the heels of a wiry little Indian doctor with round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his long nose.

Taylor froze and set her feet, ready for a fight. The two agents noticed and visibly tensed. It was the doctor who broke the brief impasse by clearing his throat.

"Mr. Lopez. This is the cape your parents wish to examine your sister?"

Raul nodded.

The doctor turned to Taylor. "I am Dr. Agarwal. You are?"

"Quintessence," Taylor said. She slowly reached to one of the many pockets on her overcoat and, aware of how tense the PRT agents were, removed one of her new business cards. "I was licensed yesterday for parahuman healing."

"Oh! Yes, yes, I heard! Quite exciting to have a healer in the city. Congratulations for using your power to heal instead of kill. If only more of you parahumans would try that, perhaps we would not find ourselves in situations like young Miss Lopez. There are permissions and waivers you must complete before we can allow you to see our patient, though it is good that you are licensed. This way, please."

The paperwork amounted to releasing the hospital of all liability in the event she made the patient worse, as well as statements agreeing to patient confidentiality, etc. etc. By the time she finished the paperwork, it was almost seven. At no point, however, did anyone question her real identity. It felt surreal to think that just two days ago she'd killed a man in the ER lobby just on the other side of the building.

Finally, they took an elevator up to the fifth floor ICU area.

Taylor had never been in an ICU before, but the moment Dr. Argawal led them out of the elevator she realized they were in the large, round tower that dominated the east side of the hospital from the west side. The entire space was circular, allowing the nurse's station a view and easy access to each of the rooms.

Standing in a clump looking out of place in their plain, threadbare clothes, stood a large family. Taylor counted eight of them not including Raul, and at least three generations judging from the two wizened grandparents that stood near one of the taller, larger women.

"Yeah, guess I should have warned you, Maria has a big family," Yuki said. "Um, that's Maria's dad Jorge. That's her mom, Beatrice. Those are her grandparents, Tomas and Cecile. That's her sister Claire, and her sister Jennifer, and her brother Carlos and her brother Luis."

The father asked Raul a question in Spanish. Taylor didn't know the words, but she understood the meaning easily enough from the man's surface thoughts. He was asking how much to heal Maria.

After Raul translated, Taylor looked at the father directly. "Not money. Work. My clinic is in bad shape. North of the No-zone. No water, mold, holes in the walls. You fix it for me for just materials, and I'll heal your daughter completely."

The father understood English better than he spoke it. Raul translated anyway, but Taylor could see that Jorge was already thinking about it. Finally, he nodded. "_Si._"

He offered his hand; Taylor accepted it. Even through her glove, she felt the man's strong grip.

"I take it then Mr. Lopez agrees to sign the waiver for parahuman healing?" Dr. Argawal asked.

This time, it was the family that had to sign the stack of paper absolving the hospital of any possible blame if anything went wrong. Only after all the paperwork was signed and the hospital was clad in a lawsuit-proof armor of paperwork did the doctor lead Taylor to the room where Maria Lopez lay in a coma.

She looked small.

Taylor didn't remember her being so small on the boat, but somehow the huge bed swallowed her slight form. A glance around showed six other patients in the room, none of whom had any more privacy than a pull curtain. Under the unsparing light, Taylor saw clearly for the first time the terrible violence that had been enacted upon Maria Lopez, and not for the first time she found herself regretting the fact that she could only kill the Russians once.

The girl's jaw had been wired together such that wires actually protruded through her cheeks. Both eyes looked black and blue, they were swollen so badly.

Taylor's eyes stung just looking at her.

"I'll need a stool," she said. "This might take a while."

She almost expected Argawal to give her a hard time, but fortunately he didn't. Instead, he cleared his throat. "May I observe?"

Taylor opened her mouth to tell him to leave, but as a nurse brought in a heavily padded, rolling stool, she realized she very much wanted him there. "I'd actually prefer it, if you have the time," she admitted.

"Oh, I do. Bayview West is primarily a teaching hospital. If you do not object, residents may come by as well."

"That's fine," Taylor said. "Just…no recording, please."

"Oh, of course not. That would violate our privacy rules."

Taylor slipped off her gloves. Nearby, she saw how Argawal studied her hands with interest. In his mind, she sensed that he could tell from her hands alone how young she was. It didn't matter, though.

Maria Lopez deserved better than this.

"I'm going to heal her jaw first," she announced. "And…her ribs too, feels like."

"Yes, she had four broken ribs, one of which was fractured quite badly. We've not operated due to the multitude of her injures. I understand that she received parahuman healing at…"

"I would prefer not to talk about that, Doctor," Taylor said softly. "Some experiences are just too bad to talk about."

She knew very well that she just implied strongly that she was, herself, a brand-new trigger from the Industrial West incident.

"I…of course."

The Force came at her summons. She concentrated it down through her hands, holding her breath as she did. She didn't manipulate Maria's bones, muscle or face with her telekinesis. That's not how the Force worked. Rather, it gave the body itself the energy to heal quickly. The only thing Taylor had to do was reset the mandible bone, but then again that's why she did that before waking the girl.

"I'm going to need someone to get the wiring out of her mouth," Taylor said.

Again, she was pleased that Argawal did not give her a hard time. Though, it was actually a young woman in a white lab coat who came with the tools necessary to remove the wiring that they'd put in to try and heal her jaw—before they realized she might not wake at all.

"Go ahead and remove the tube, too," Taylor said.

With a glance at Argawal, the female resident and a nurse removed the tube that had been breathing for the girl. Even before it was out, Taylor took a deep breath and placed a hand on Maria's forehead, and another on her chest, and once more summoned the Force. This time, sensing she was now on the clock with the life support removed, Taylor grabbed at her power and pushed it with effort into Maria's failing body.

Until, eventually, her body stopped accepting the flow. At first, Taylor reared back and gasped in horror. Had she failed? Was Maria dead?

A weak cough calmed Taylor down. The Force stopped because Maria was whole.

Mr. Lopez clutched his daughter's hand. "_Maria, my angel, can you hear me_?"

"Dad?"

Taylor almost fell off her stool when the sounds of clapping hands filled the room. She spun and gaped at the small squad of interns and residents that had evidently gathered while she was healing Maria.

"How long?" Taylor asked.

"It's been about two hours," Yuki said. She stood at Taylor's side, weeping openly. "You did it. You really did it."

"I…need to go," Taylor said. The exhaustion made it hard to keep her eyes open.

"Indeed, Quintessence. It was an honor, thank you for letting us observe," Argawal said. "If I may, have you considered seeking a residency here? With a performance like that, you could truly make a difference."

"I…thank you. I'll…think about it."

Jorge Lopez made his way around his daughter's bed, tears streaming down his rugged face into the massive, bushy mustache he wore. "_I will bring my crew tomorrow. Where do you wish us to come?"_

Taylor didn't even think about it. "_The old Lutheran church on California Way, five blocks north of the Exclusion Zone."_

He nodded. "_We'll be there. Thank you, Quintessencia. Thank you for my daughter."_

He shook her hand excessively before he returned to his crying wife's side. Taylor made her way through the crowd, nervously trying to deal with the gratitude and admiration of people who, just days ago, would have spit at her and then run in fear.

It wasn't until she was in the elevator heading down that the shakes began. She didn't even mind when Yuki put her arm around her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I…what are you doing?"

"You looked like you needed a hug," Yuki pointed out.

"I…yeah, I guess I did. But why are you here, now?"

"Oh, well, I…kind of need your help. I'm a cape too, and I'm not sure what to do about it. Could you help me? And when did you learn to speak Spanish?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"This place is so cool."

Yuki and Taylor sat across from each other with their hamburgers and sodas in the loft of the old church. Yuki looked around the place in fascination while she nibbled on her kid's size hamburger and fries.

Taylor, meanwhile, was on her second hamburger. Her late lunch was a long time ago, and even after one hamburger her stomach still angrily demanded more.

Taylor finally broached the topic that brought Yuki to the church in the first place. "You triggered on the boat?"

In the battery-powered LED lamplight, Yuki's eyes widened a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I guess…I guess I didn't realize it at first. When the soldiers started beating Maria, I screamed. I was afraid they would hurt me too, but I couldn't leave her. But they didn't see me. I didn't realize what was going on until one of them walked right through me. I thought maybe I'd died and became a ghost, but then I was real again when you came."

"Can you show me?"

She blushed. "Um, well, it's embarrassing. I can't take my clothes with me, so I end up naked. Oh, I forgot! You've already seen me naked so it doesn't matter!"

Before Taylor could point out how she never actually got a good look at the other girl, Yuki disappeared. Her clothes fluttered down onto the short pew that had served as her seat. Moments later, she reappeared next to the table. She covered her chest, shivering.

"Shit, it's cold! See, though? I can't keep my clothes on when I go ghost like that!"

Taylor felt her cheeks blush. Having never played sports and only done gym in school, she'd never seen another girl naked before the Bratva. What she got out of it was that, in comparison, she wasn't quite as flat as she made herself out to be. Yuki looked positively child-like as she quickly pulled her clothes back on.

The thought of how innocent she appeared clashed horribly with what Taylor knew the other girl experienced on that boat. She found herself studying the other girl's body, embarrassment lost in anger, and only then noticed bruises along the girl's ribs. Glancing down, she saw little round burns on the insides of her thighs before the girl pulled her jeans up. She'd been going commando, apparently.

Yuki paused in the middle of pulling her jeans on. She glanced wide-eyed at Taylor, her lips trembling. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" Taylor broke her gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You….you were suddenly really angry at me." Yuki sounded like she was on the verge of crying.

Which didn't help Taylor fight back her own urge to cry. "Not at you, Yuki. For you. I was angry for you. For what happened to you. About those burns and bruises. I'm… Go ahead and get dressed, please."

"Oh." The other girl's cheeks blossomed. She pulled her jeans up, then quickly pulled on her blouse, then the coat over it. She sat to pull on her socks and shoes.

"It's okay, you know. Maria had it worse. It's not like that was my first time. Besides, the bruises were from my uncle for coming back, and the burns are old. Uncle gave me to his friends all the time before he sold me to the Russians."

Her casual tone at first confused Taylor, until the true import of her words hit like a fist to her gut. "What? Your uncle…"

Yuki shrugged. "Did it to my sister, too. I don't even know where she is. He waited until we're sixteen to actually sell us. Before it was just favors, when we were younger. Uncle launders money for Tekiya, and any time he messes up he has to pay for it. So, he paid with us, you know? But he was really upset when I came back, because he'd already sold me to Tekiya, and they gave me to the Russians as a peace offering. So I was supposed to go…what….hmmm."

The tiny girl melted into Taylor's hug with a pleased purr, almost like a cat.

"You know, my life has been utter shit the passed two weeks." She held Yuki out at arm's length. "I think you may have me beat. Come over to the cot, take the clothes off again."

Her eyes widened. "But…you like girls?"

This time, it was Taylor's turn to blush. "No, silly. I'm going to heal you. Come on."

"Really? REALLY? Can you give me bigger boobs?"

"Um, no, sorry. My power doesn't work that way. Obviously." She motioned to her own chest.

Yuki blushed. "Right. Well, that's still really cool."

She blinked out of existence, disappearing not just from Taylor's side, but from her Force senses as well. A second later a naked Yuki ran toward Taylor's cot, quickly wrapping herself up in a sleeping bag as she shivered.

Taylor moved the propane heater closer. "Okay, show me anywhere it hurts, or any old scars."

Yuki looked at her in the dim lamp light, her eyes huge. "You're really going to heal me?"

"Yeah."

A single tear ran down her cheek. "Thank you."

It felt odd touching another girl in such sensitive areas—Yuki's skin felt cold and clammy from goosebumps and nervousness. But as she did so, Taylor realized what a beating the girl must have taken from her uncle. Nothing was broken—the Uncle must have been very careful to cause pain without breakage

Yuki's cheeks looked almost dark as Taylor laid her hands on each bruise and let the Force flow. Both girls were a little embarrassed when Taylor turned her attention to the burns on the inside of her thighs.

"Some of these look years old," she noted.

"Yeah."

"And you just turned sixteen?"

"Yeah."

The Force reduced the scars in size and severity until nothing remained by a slight discoloration, which Taylor knew would also fade in time. There were seven of them in all, four on her right thigh and three on her left, some of which were precariously close to the girl's intimates.

When she was done, Yuki was sniffing as quietly as she could. She started talking in a low, steady stream of words that came like soft bullets in the gloom of the loft.

"Uncle said I was only good for whoring. My sister and I were all tainted, mother said so. My dad was _Burakumin_. Like…um, a black person in the United States after your Civil War. Discriminated against. Low caste. Uncle called my Dad _Eta. _It means… 'filthy people.' Dad lied about it when he and Mother married, but Uncle found his family name in this book, the _Tokushu Buraku Chimei Sokan. _He died a few days later. Mother always said it was a car accident. But I think…I think Uncle and mother had him killed. Then Uncle moved us all here and told us that we were tainted. That he could not find us good husbands so we would have to work in the brothels. He gave us to his boss or to his soldiers. The boss liked to put car lighters on us. Uncle sold my sister last year. Don't know where she is. Maria knew about it all, and she…she… I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

Taylor stripped quickly out of her healing costume while the smaller girl talked, changing into a sleeping shirt before she lowered the heater, turned off the lanterns, and climbed into the cot next to the still weeping Yuki.

The tiny girl, as naked as the day she was born but now whole and unhurt, turned and clung to Taylor.

"You're going to stay here, with me," Taylor said when she finally found her voice. "You can help me with my clinic. You can come up with a cape name tomorrow. You are _not_ going back to your Uncle or mother."

Rather than agree, Yuki actually cried louder even as she clung tightly to Taylor. She continued to cry into the night, until finally, after almost an hour, she sank into a deep, troubled sleep.


	13. Doing Business

A/N: Chap 12 review responses in my forums as normal. Things are stabilizing for Taylor, which means slower chapters.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Doing Business**

She lay on a divan as the warm wind caressed her body. She smiled lazily at the way the breeze plucked at the long, snowy white strands of her hair. Red sunlight fell in dappled diamonds of color through the dark blue leaves of the tree over her head. She watched as the leaves turned their thickly veined, furry surfaces to the light. Always seeking, always eager for the light.

Another girl was there, laying on the divan beside her. Inhumanly large, violet eyes stared intently down at her. Long, pure white hair fell from the top knot along the shaven sides of her bone-pale scalp. She ran a hand slowly across her cheek.

"_Do you know what sacrifice even means, my sister? Who would you die for?"_

The words rang in Taylor's mind, bouncing about like a ricocheting bullet, until all thought shattered before a gut-churning howl that ripped through the air. It wasn't animal, though. It was a machine. A warning. A siren.

_No, wait. That's a scream._

Taylor's eyes snapped open and she winced as small feet kicked against her shins within the confines of their sleeping bag. Yuki cried in her sleep as she fought against the terrors in her dreams.

"Uncle!"

The cry resounded in the Force with a saturation of betrayal, misery and pain. Taylor's efforts to grab and hold the smaller girl was as much to protect herself as to comfort Yuki. She hooked Yuki's kicking legs with her own, securing them between her larger, stronger thighs, and she pulled Yuki up next to her, smothering her weak, terrified swings in a crushing hug.

Finally, she flooded the smaller girl with Force energy, letting it flow into her mind with thoughts of peace and safety. "Shh," Taylor whispered as she held the smaller girl's face to her chest. "It's okay. You're safe. It's okay. You're safe. I've got you."

The storm passed. In the space of ten heartbeats, Yuki went from fight-or-flight nightmare to quiet, subdued wakefulness. With it came a shiver from the body within Taylor's arms, moving down from her head to her toes. Taylor was very cold herself, and couldn't tell if Yuki was shivering because of the cold or the nightmare.

Her arms snaked around Taylor's chest. Her legs slid free of Taylor's, only to wrap around them again, and this time it was Yuki clinging desperately to her. As she did so, Taylor became uncomfortably aware of how thin her sleeping shirt and underwear were, and how utterly naked Yuki was.

She said nothing, though. Instead, she and Yuki clung together, shivering in the freezing cold of a January morning in Seattle. Soon it ceased to be about exhaustion and became a way to shelter themselves from the bitter cold. Taylor didn't trust her telekinesis quite enough to try refilling a propane heater, but at the same time she desperately wanted _not_ to climb out into the biting cold air.

Eventually, though, Taylor's bladder and her stomach drove her to get up and moving. She ignored Yuki's whimper and her own body's intense shivering as she stepped over the cold wood of the loft subfloor to the space heater. It took only a few shivering moments to refill the heater and get heat radiating out. A quick trip to the camping toilet was enough to find some relief before she climbed back into her cot.

Almost instantly Yuki somehow positioned herself directly into Taylor, grabbing her hands around her waist and up between her small breasts. "Taylor, um, what does it mean that I can feel you inside me?"

Taylor choke on spit before folding into a coughing fit.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Breakfast was served on a filthy old card table Taylor found in the church annex, which she covered with a picnic blanket she found in her supplies. It took a long time to get tea warmed up on a propane oven, and she was fairly certain she burned the bacon.

The eggs turned out fine, though. And Yuki put enough strawberry jam on her two slightly crisped pieces of toast that the charring became largely irrelevant.

"So, ahhh, what you said earlier. That wasn't just a way to try and, you know, seduce me, wasn't it?"

"Oh, no. I mean, I was thinking about trying to start seducing you tonight. Maria says I have to go slow, because some girls aren't into other girls. So, instead of, you know, trying to jump your bones or anything I should start with hugs and little kisses to get you used to being touched by another girl."

Taylor found it difficult to close her mouth. "So, ahh, subtlety isn't required for this plan of yours?"

"Oh, no, it's all subtle-like. If not, I'd go down on you in a second." Yuki's grin looked almost…wistful. "You have no idea how hot you looked on that ship, all bloody and shot and hurting and all. I mean, I think I came a little just looking at you. But Maria knows about these things, so I'm gonna go real slow and get you used to it. Like touching my boobs this morning? That was a good start. But…what I said? It's really weird, but if feels like I can actually feel you in my head. Not just a 'God I wanna fuck her so hard I can feel it' type feeling, but like a 'Wow, she's really angry and I can feel it.' That kinda feeling."

Taylor just had no idea what to say. She liked Yuki, but she felt no attraction to the girl at all. On the other hand, no one had ever expressed such unbridled desire toward her, except for Greg Veder. And he most definitely didn't count.

"I'm not gay, Yuki," she felt compelled to ask.

"Oh, that's okay," the other girl said as she at her toast. "I'm not either."

What really confused Taylor was the fact that, according to the Force, Yuki wasn't lying.

"Okay, let's put that aside. After breakfast, I want to try something."

"Oh…"

"That doesn't involve you kissing me."

"Oh, okay."

The finished eating and Yuki volunteered to put the dishes in a plastic bin with some water and detergent to soak. When they were done and dressed, Taylor walked her back to her cot and the precious circle of warmth from their heater.

"Okay. Face me. I'll see if I can figure this out."

She took the smaller but older girl's hands in her own. "This is going to seem silly, but I want to you just not think about anything. Or, if you do have to think of something, think of the ocean."

"The ocean?"

"Yeah. You're on a beach by the ocean. No houses, no ships. Just the water and the sky. The waves are crawling up the beach and then receding. Can you imagine it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm standing beside you."

Yuki stiffened as Taylor projected herself into the other girl's mind. She found herself on a desolate stony beach with cold, gray clouds pushing down against a stormy, cold ocean. Yuki stared at her, mouth agape.

"I can see you," she said within the vision.

"I know. Take my hand."

Yuki complied without question.

"Okay, Yuki. Do you trust me?"

"Yes." No hesitation. The word sounded almost like an affirmation of faith.

"Then believe me now. That ocean? That's life itself—that's my power. I call it the Force. Everything around us carries that energy in it. Like…spirits, almost. That energy is what gives me my power. I'm telepathic because all minds are linked through the Force. I can move objects because all objects are borne by the Force. And I can help my body heal faster because my blood is infused with the Force itself. And I'm going to walk you into that ocean. Do you understand?"

Yuki hesitated a moment. "But…it's…cold. And deep."

Taylor squeezed her hand. "It's deep, but not cold. In this ocean, you could live in it. Close your eyes and trust me."

"I…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I trust you. I'd…I'll do anything you say. Anything for you."

Taylor fought to calm herself with such adoring declarations.

"Okay. I'm going to walk you to the ocean, and I'll tell you when we're in the water, okay?"

Although it was only a visualization, Taylor couldn't help but stifle a gasp when she stepped into the ocean and felt the Force surge through her as the waves lapped at her ankles. More importantly, Yuki gasped and stumbled backward until she fell out of the Force, and right out of the vision.

Both girls opened their eyes in the loft of the abandoned, flooded church. Yuki's chest heaved as she gasped for air.

"Yuki, are you okay?"

"I…I…I felt that!" Yuki said. "Not the water. I felt…it was…warm and soft and like a wind and….wow. I …wow…"

Taylor for her part felt equally shocked, because she had no doubt at all that her friend felt the Force, something she thought only she could do because of her power.

"That's…a very good start," she said. "A really good start."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Jorge Lopez arrived on the cracked street an hour after dawn with three large trucks. Two were just regular pick-up trucks that looked like they were older than Taylor, but the third looked like a battered old utility truck. Taylor watched, astounded, as ten men climbed out of the three trucks. Jorge led the way.

Though he must have known who Yuki was, he didn't even nod. "Quintessencia," he said. "Show us where to work and what you want."

She led him to the side annex of the old church. Positioned as it was on the south-side of the church, the huge stone structure of the sanctuary provided some shelter for those classrooms in the annex nearest the church. But the further reaches of the structure collapsed in the flooding that came with Leviathan.

She showed him the three rooms she wanted to use, explaining how she envisioned things.

"What about the rest of the building?" He pointed at the collapsed classes.

"I don't need it for my clinic. Maybe someday after we get money coming in, but not yet."

He walked with her through the section of the annex she wanted to use. "I need three days and twenty thousand," he said finally.

She knew from a recent count of her stolen Russian money that she could cover it, but she still couldn't help but wince at the thought of spending so much. "What will that get me?"

"Walls, roof, flowing water. Septic system, and rain water capture system. Wiring. I can get it cheap because of salvage. Carpets in the lobby, linoleum in the other rooms. No electricity unless you have a big generator, but everything will be wired."

She sensed nothing but honesty. Even more so, she sensed the men were working for him at half their normal wages.

"Twenty thousand," she agreed. She turned to her new friend. "Yurei, the satchel by our stove?"

"Oh, yeah!" Yuki ran off.

Only as she was gone did Jorge acknowledge her. "Maria's friend?"

Taylor nodded. "She's a cape now. Because of what happened. She's going to stay with me."

Mr. Lopez considered that a moment before nodding. "Good. Would it be okay if Maria came to visit her?"

"I think she'd like that," Taylor said.

She handed over twenty thousand in stolen cash and Jorge immediately put his team to work. He himself left the site, but other men set to work tearing things down. Taylor retreated with Yuki back into the church loft.

Using her nice phone, she called her patron.

"_Quintessence, guess what I saw on the news last night?"_

"Something about Bayview West?" Taylor guessed from context.

"_Something about Bayview West. Great going, Darling! That story is the best advertising you could do! Speaking of, are you ready to drop your first ad?"_

"Actually, I have a crew working on my clinic. He said he needed the rest of the week. Could we drop the ad this weekend and open on Monday?"

"_You already have a crew?"_

"The girl I healed—her father is a contractor."

"_Wow, you work fast. Absolutely, that will work. In fact, I might even bring a VIP by to help you open. So, my people tell me you should charge a sliding rate with a minimum of $200 per hour rate going up as high as you want. How does that sound?"_

"That sounds like a lot."

"_Darling, a good surgeon can charge over seven or eight hundred an hour. A good lawyer or CPA chargers $400 or more. The only reason we think you can't charge more is that you aren't working out of a hospital. So, you start low but go up depending on what they need and what they can pay. Besides, you can always charge less if you have reason. Now, I have a few references for office aides…"_

"Um, actually, I have an aide already."

"_My goodness, you really are fast! Perfect. Okay, we'll drop the add Saturday. I can't wait to see your clinic, Taylor. Call if you need anything!"_

"Who was that?" Yuki asked.

Taylor considered how to answer before deciding the truth. "You know who I am, don't you?"

"Taylor Hebert, right?" She motioned toward Taylor's eyes. "Those kind of give you away, a little."

"I'm number eleven on the Top Twenty most wanted parahumans in America," Taylor said. "If the Protectorate found out I was Quintessence, they'd try to arrest me and throw me in he Birdcage. I needed help, and the only people who would help me were the Elite."

Yuki considered this a moment before shrugging. "Cool. That means we're supervillains now, right?"

"I am. You're a Rogue. And you're okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

For some reason, the chipper answer worried Taylor. "What I mean is, I'm a wanted felon. You're a new cape. You could walk into the PRT headquarters and say you wanted to join the Wards, and they'd take you in. If you told them about your Uncle and Mom, they'd take care of you. You could have a real life, and go to school. I can't offer any of that to you, Yuki. Hell, it's fucking selfish to even…what…Yuki?"

Once again she found herself interrupted by a hug from the smaller girl.

"The Protectorate didn't save me," Yuki told her. "The Protectorate didn't save my best friend. The Protectorate didn't hold me last night. You did. I don't care about making new friends. I don't care about school. All I need is you. And…well, maybe some new clothes."

Taylor couldn't help but laugh at the girl. It seemed safer than crying.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Yuki came to Taylor with nothing. They had the option of going to her uncle's house for basic supplies or going shopping. So, with sunglasses and a baseball cap for herself, and nothing for Yuki, the girls left Jorge and his crew to work while they went shopping.

"You okay with Goodwill? And Buy'n Large?" Taylor asked.

Yuki shrugged. "You can find great stuff there."

After making sure Yuki was all set supply wise, Taylor turned the car to go back when she saw a going-out-of business banner on an Home Electronics Surplus store.

"Wouldn't hurt to look."

"For what?"

"Not sure. I guess I'll know it when I see it."

Two hours later, Taylor watched with her stolen red sunglasses hiding her eyes as a pair of disgruntled workers finished tying the huge pallet of unboxed and returned microwaves to the top of her car, while the used desktop towers and tablets went in the trunk, along with the precision tools and soldering set.

"So, you're a tinker, too?" Yuki asked when the men finished.

"Of course not," Taylor assured her.

By the time they got back to the church, Taylor felt a jolt of shock to see a little bulldozer pushing away the unrepairable portion of the annex. That portion they were going to repair was already stripped down to it's studs.

"They work fast," Yuki noted.

"Good," Taylor said. "My patron is going to place an add in three days for my clinic, and we need to be up and running. You'll help, right?"

"You bet!"

They got everything in and up to the loft. That night, with the generator running loudly, Yuki played on the laptop while Taylor examined her bounty. She wasn't sure exactly what prompted her to pull into the electronics store, but once she saw the unboxed or returned microwaves and the bins of used tablets, cell phones and desk top computers, her mind simply clicked.

The Force flowed around her as she examined and began to disassemble each item. From her memories, she knew that molecular furnaces didn't bother with physically insulating materials. Rather, the furnaces depended on compounded ray and particle shielding and magnetic fields to contain the multi-stage fission/fusion reactions that would not only generate all the power she could possibly need, but would also create any set of matter she could possibly want.

Diagrams ran through her mind as if she were watching a television show on the design and creation of Molecular Furnaces, narrated by Tony Borden for the Discovery Channel. The turbine goes here, Tony would say in his sexy voice, and the anodes go at these points here. The magnetrons must be perfectly aligned with the ray and particle shield emitters or we could have a catastrophic failure on our hands. That would certainly finish off what Leviathan started, wouldn't it? Almost as important as the hardware is the software and the control systems. Those various circuit boards need to be daisy-chained, just like so. Imagine the ingredients of a classic New England chowder. Any one ingredient could overwhelm the others, everything must be in balance.

Tony's voice rippled up and down her spine as she manipulated the soldering iron even as her fingers flew over the keyboard to the linked circuit boards. She'd already stripped the original operating system and was creating a new one of her own in a language she knew no one on earth could read.

_And there, the final product. The culmination of alien knowledge and Terran gumption, the molecular furnace can…can…_

Taylor frowned as she lost the thread of Tony's voice. _Come back, Sexy Tony!_

She knew the man was old enough to be her father, but suddenly could have imagined herself kissing him. But the voice went away, as did the Force. She suddenly became aware of the fact that she was sitting cross-legged on a cold floor, with numb legs and a sore back, and a shocking exhaustion that hit her like a brick.

Across from her, snacking on a container of peanuts, Yuki waived.

"I don't know what you were doing, but it was pretty cool."

In between them sat a large metal box that looked like a microwave designed by the Weird Science kids but built by Mad Max. It was almost three feet-square and shone with potential. All it needed was power to initiate it's capacitors.

"So, ah…what is it?"

"A generator, sort of," Taylor said.

"And you're not a tinker? 'Cause it sure looked like you were a tinker. You had bits and pieces flying all over the place. It was really cool."

"Not a tinker," Taylor promised. "I am tired, though. It's been a long day."

She used some of their precious water to brush her teeth and get dressed in her sleeping shirt. Laundry, she saw, was going to be an issue soon. For now, though, all she needed was…sleep?

Yuki lay in the cot, stark naked. _Of course Yuki was in the cot._ Where else would she sleep?

"Think you could hold off on the seduction for another night?"

Yuki smiled. "Yeah. Mainly, you just make the nightmares better. And it's cold sleeping alone."

"Could you at least put something on?" Taylor said. Even to her ears, she sounded like she was whining.

This time, the grin turned mischievous. "Good point. Shirt's make even small tits mysterious."

So, she slipped on one of Taylor's shirts, which while skinny enough for her, hung down to her thighs. "Hmm," she said, holding the collar to her nose. "It even smells like you."

"Come on, lover girl. It's cold."

Taylor scooted over enough to make room for her bedmate.

Yuki made an odd purring noise of happiness when she climbed in. Almost immediately the smaller girl latched onto Taylor. At first it felt awkward and uncomfortable. But once she stopped thinking about another girl's breasts against her, she was able to acknowledge that she was warm for the first time all day.


	14. Masters and Apprentices

A/N: Chap 13 review responses are in my forums as normal.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Masters and Apprentices**

Yuki stumbled along with bleary eyes as Taylor dragged her out of the church for a run.

"Trust me, exercise is really important to mastering the Force."

"We ran yesterday. And the day before. Right now I just wanna master sleep!"

Jorge was already there with his crew, working by the light of the bulldozer they were using to lift the ceiling joists for the annex. It seemed impossible that they were going to finish that day, but he assured her that they would. She waved at he and his men and continued dragging Yuki out.

"I'll make a deal with you," Taylor said. "For every mile you run, I'll let you kiss me."

Yuki definitely perked up. "Where?"

"What do you mean…oh." This time, Taylor felt her cheeks burning. "Let's start on the lips, okay?"

Yuki considered it for a long moment. "Make it two, one place you get to pick and one a place I get to pick,"

"Above the collar, lover girl."

"Deal."

"Alright, let's go."

Not five minutes later, Yuki gasped, "I changed my mind! Your love's not worth the pain. I'm still sore from yesterday!"

When they started, Taylor thought surely they could at least go a mile. However, as much as she hated to admit it, her body was exhausted. She'd never exercised before the locker, and it was obvious from Yuki's gasping that the other girl hadn't either. Still, Taylor knew the Force could replenish them. Their first day they walked more than they ran.

The second day they managed a light jog for almost a mile.

Today, though, even Taylor realized they had to do something.

"Alright, first lesson," she decided once she mostly caught her breath. She looked around until she saw the rusted hood of a car that would serve as a relatively clean spot to sit. "Come here."

Yuki did so with a groan, clambering up onto the hood until she sat cross-legged facing Taylor.

"Close your eyes, like you did when you felt the ocean."

Yuki did so, and Taylor could feel an odd anticipation from her in the Force. She reached out and touched Yuki's mind. Yuki's breath caught in her throat.

"Do you feel me?"

"Oh, yes," Yuki gasped.

"Down, lover girl. Follow what I'm doing."

Taylor reached instinctively for the Force, pulling Yuki's consciousness with her as she did, and then let the energy of it flow into her body. She could feel it like a gentle warmth soaking into her muscles and lungs, easing the strain.

Across from her, she felt Yuki haltingly do the same. Her connection felt far weaker than Taylor's, but even so she knew the moment the Force began to flow into her friend's body from the way Yuki's breathing quickened.

"Oh, wow," she whispered.

"In my dreams, I just know that I can use the Force to replenish myself," Taylor explained softly. "The training was designed to help our bodies become more aligned with the Force, so that not only are we physically stronger, but we can go without rest if we need to. Soon you won't have to stop to do this. Feel better?"

"Yeah!" She almost screamed the world. "That is so fucking awesome!" She leaned forward and hugged Taylor tightly before sliding off the car. "Man, this is better than meth!"

Taylor chose not to comment on how her friend would know that. She knew that compared to Yuki, she'd led a relatively sheltered life. "Already, let's try this again."

They continued to have to stop frequently, since Yuki couldn't quite manage to pull on the Force to replenish herself while running. But Taylor did notice that they managed to go further and further between stops. The run ended up taking most of the morning, but by the time they got back Yuki almost glowed with the excitement of her success.

"Two kisses, right?" she asked as they were walking toward the clinic.

"Don't you want to wait until we're clean?"

"No. Where do you want the first one?"

Taylor decided to play it safe and leaned down to point at her cheek.

"Coward," Yuki said, though she grinned. She then planted a very slow kiss on that check, doing so in a way that tickled and sent ripples down Taylor's neck.

"Second is mine. Above the collar."

"Right."

"Close your eyes and lean over, you're tall."

Taylor was expecting a kiss on the lips. She even pursed her lips, bound and determined to keep any questing tongues out of her mouth. Which is why when she felt two small lips against the side of her neck, just under and behind her right ear, she almost screamed and jerked away. Except that Yuki had wrapped her arms around her. Whether it was a kiss or a suck or a lick, Taylor didn't know. Whatever Yuki did, though, sent shivers down her spine.

Her attacker had a satisfied grin on her face. "Above the collar, just like you said. Dibs on the shower!"

Rather than follow, Taylor made her way to the annex, trying to think about what it meant that a girl kissed her neck, and it sorta felt good.

When she cleared the corner of the church's front face, she once again found herself awed by just how much Jorge and his team were able to do in a short amount of time. From inside the structure, she heard power tools and hammers. A large, well-used generator roared to the side.

Jorge walked out, smiling. "Almost done!" he said.

Taylor didn't even hear the Spanish anymore, it just sounded like normal speech to her now. "Show me?"

The annex itself was actually smaller than her old house in Brockton Bay, but it didn't need to be huge. There was a waiting area at the street side, then through a doorway into comfortable sized hall, Taylor spotted three examination rooms and full bathroom. A couple of men were busy caulking in a lime-green tub.

"Got it for next to nothing at the city salvage," he told her. "It's why we could do it so cheap. I have tables for your rooms, and stools. We'll build a receptionist desk for the front, we already have a marble counter top."

"This is incredible." She noticed the toilet. "It has water?"

"Come, I'll show you."

He led her to a narrow closet between the annex and the old masonry of the church wall. Inside she saw a metal ladder that he climbed up onto.

Two men were finishing up roof tiles on the back slope of the roof. Taylor could see the ground up earth where they installed the reconditioned septic system. But what caught her eye was the metal cabinet set on a wood and steel platform built on the roof right next to the church masonry.

"It only holds a thousand gallons," he explained. "You'll need to get a portable tank to buy water and refill it. But it's high enough to give flushing toilets and running sinks. And the bathtub and shower, if you girls want it."

"Oh, we do," Taylor said happily. "Oh, Jorge, this is wonderful! How did you do all this? Wouldn't it require an architect or an engineer or something?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she looked back and saw him by the water tank, scowling. "You think I shouldn't be able to do this?"

She could see it, then, in his mind. He worked for a leading builder in Mexico, starting out as a simple laborer as he worked his way through college for an engineering degree. His hard work rewarded him with a nice home he built himself, the esteem of his colleagues and the knowledge that he was building homes that people could be proud to live in. And then Behemoth came and burned Mexico City to the ground. The echo of that monster still lived in his nightmares.

She saw through his eyes as the Federal government faltered and never managed to recover; as various states splintered off, first run by cartels and then parahumans who at first fought the cartels as heroes, only to take over completely as warlords.

She could see his pleading with the American consulate for a visa that would allow him to work using his professional credentials, only to be placed on a waiting list with millions of others from Mexico, Central and South America who were also desperate to reach the one remaining bastion of civilization in the Americas.

She felt his anguish, grief and determination to do anything necessary to keep his family safe. The poverty, the genuine hunger they felt as they emptied what little savings they had left to pay smugglers to get them into the country.

It almost left her breathless.

"I didn't realize before," she admitted softly. "But I do now."

She looked behind him at the church. "When we have money from the clinic, I would be honored if you helped Yuki and I turn that church into a home."

He gave her a hint of a smile. "When you have money, let me know, and I will."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

That very same Saturday afternoon that the advertisement hit PHO, letting people know they could schedule parahuman healing for as little as $200 a visit, and Jorge's men finished the last finishing touches on the annex, Taylor had a visit from the elite of the Elite.

She felt thankful Yuki had left to spend the afternoon with Maria. When the stretch limo arrived at the cracked street right in front of the abandoned church, Taylor braced herself for anything.

Taylor stiffened when Obsidian climbed out of the driver's seat, immaculate in a three-piece suit. His shaven, pitch-black head gleamed in the dull sunlight of a January morning in Seattle. He stepped calmly to the back door of the limo and held it open even as Taylor approached from the clinic's newly installed front door. She knew that Jorge and his team were finishing the septic system behind the clinic, in what was going to be a garden.

With Obsidian holding the door, Entourage climbed out first. Then she climbed out second and third time, each copy identical to the first in stylish black dresses with crimson half-jackets and a wide crimson leather belt, and matching crimson Venetian masks. The red pumps matched the belt and half-jacket perfectly. The three copies of Entourage them assisted another person from the limo just as Taylor arrived.

This person looked to be in her mid-forties, her face covered by a black and white laced Venetian style mask more ornate even than Entourage's. She had a great figure for her age, but had to cling to two of the Entourage clones to stand. She wore stylish black slacks with a silvery blouse held together by a flowing black long sweater.

The last person to climb out stood nearly as tall as Obsidian, but with twice the girth. Nor was it fat. The man looked like a walking, talking wall of muscle with a head of short-cropped hair. He wore a suit like the others.

The whole party stopped in front of Taylor.

"Quintessence," Entourage began. "This is Agnes Court, one of the governors of the Elite. She is my _sponsor's_ sponsor. And with us also is Obsidian and Upperhand."

Taylor thought back to the capes she knew—the capes whose names might be recognized around the world. Agnes Court was one of them—Shaker able to reshape the world around her. She was ranked right up with Ziggurat of the Chinese Union Imperials cape force, the Yàngban. Like Ziggurat, Agnes could grow whole cities with her power.

"It's an honor," Taylor said with a nod.

"We'll see," Court said sharply. Her voice had a high, angry and strained pitch to it, which for some reason reminded Taylor of her old principal. "Entourage has violated the rules of the Elite and attempted to establish a presence in a city she was not assigned to. This presents a problem to the other governors."

"I…yes. I understand this was supposed to be Nonpareil's territory."

Entourage gave her a surprised look. Court simply nodded. "Indeed. However, since you're here you can make yourself useful. As you can no doubt see my leg is badly broken. I would like you to heal it."

"Of course. Please come inside. I'm afraid we're still finishing up some construction, so please ignore the new paint smell."

The lobby of her clinic, in recognition of her surroundings, was a spacious but modestly built room with a single receptionist desk against the interior wall and two reconditioned church pews with upholstered cushions against the walls for seating. It was actually the largest room in the four-room section of the intact annex. Beyond the lobby, a short hall ran down the length of the remaining annex, with doors to three small examination rooms opposite, and a bathroom next to the lobby.

Only one of the rooms had an examination table in it—the Jorge's son Raul was bringing the other two from the city salvage that afternoon.

The three Entourages assisted Agnes onto the table in the first examination room while Obsidian and Upperhand stood just inside, their bulk alone crowding the space.

The woman didn't wear a cast, thank goodness. However, when one of the Entourages removed the black cloth over it, Taylor sucked in a breath. No _wonder_ the woman sounded irritated. She motioned casually for the stool and then sat.

"I'm sure you know this is a severe compound fracture."

"Can you heal it?"

"I can, but it's going to be very painful. You have bone chips everywhere and I'm going to have to move them. Would you like me to put you to sleep?"

The woman's eyes were a deep, dark blue from within her mask.

"As much as a loathe pain," she finally said, "I loathe being unconscious around others even more. Fortunately, I know several very good tinker chemists." She removed a small vial of white powder. "This will remove my sense of pain for one hour. Will that be enough?"

"I…probably not for all of it," Taylor admitted. "But for the worst? Yes, I think so."

Court removed a small six-ounce flask and poured the powder into it. She then guzzled the contents of the flask. By the time she finished, her cheeks flushed into a rosy color.

"You may begin."

Because of the experience Taylor had healing Maria's jaw, the prospect of healing a pulverized leg was not as intimidating as it might have been at one point. It simply took a while.

"Describe to me what you're doing right now." Court demanded. She sounded very much like the PRT doctor during her licensure exam.

"My power doesn't change you, it just encourages healing," Taylor said. "So I have to move things around before I do that, or it might heal wrong. I'm moving your bone chips into place where I can, and expelling those pieces too small to use through one of the five puncture wounds."

"How do you know where to put the bones?"

"My power provides me a sense of what is correct or not," Taylor explained. "It sometimes takes trial and error, but when I have something right I can usually tell. Once I have the bone as aligned and intact as possible, I'll begin healing it completely."

Court continued to study her, not a trace of pain or distress on her face.

"Of course, we know who you are," the powerful cape said, as it speaking of the weather. "We know what you've done. It seems odd that you would be content as a healer on the edge of civilization rather than as a mover and shaker at it's heart. What is it that you want out of life, Quintessence?"

The question startled her. She'd been running so fast, and then working toward the clinic so hard, she'd never considered the question.

"Short term? Not going to the Birdcage would be nice."

"Darling," Agnes Court drawled. "I can assure you that ship has sailed."

Hearing the older woman say 'darling', Taylor now realized how much she meant to Entourage. Agnes said it as a superior to an inferior. Entourage used the term as an homage to a woman she looked up to. To Taylor, it simply sounded patronizing.

Court explained herself. "The one thing I have learned about the Protectorate and PRT is that they are the soul of Pragmatism. We Elite rule San Diego jointly with them, you see. We work together to control parahuman crime, and as a result they by and large leave us alone. When they do capture one of us, unless that member has been particularly egregious in their crimes, the most common end is recruitment, rather than jail."

"How many of them have killed Protectorate heroes?" Taylor could help her bitterness.

"Not many, that's true. But consider this, darling. You obviously have the power to rule a city. You took out Saltykovkoya Bratva, a gang we Elite had been fighting for months. You defeated Narwhal, for goodness sakes. And yet, instead of ruling your own city, you've chosen to open a clinic and heal. I assure you, Quintessence, if you are ever unmasked for any reason, the Protectorate and PRT will do everything they can to recruit you. It would be a stretch of the imagination to think of Alexandria or Costa-Brown tossing such a resource away."

"Well, that's good, I suppose."

"Which returns us to my question," Agnes Court said. "What do you want out of life?"

Taylor leaned back from the now healed foot and shrugged. "To live. To survive as long as I can and have what happiness I can find in the meantime. I'm done."

"Yes, I could feel it. The drugs wore off half an hour ago." Agnes climbed gingerly off the bed until she was able to test her bare foot and ankle. "Impressive. Obsidian, darling, my shoe?"

The muscular cape knelt down in front of Agnes and slipped on a stylish, black leather boot that probably cost what Taylor's entire renovation budget cost. "Thank you, dear."

They all walked together out to the car, with Entourage at Taylor's side and the two large men a respectful distance behind. Ahead, Taylor could feel the older cape's mind whirling.

"Very well," she said, as if finishing a long conversation to herself. "Entourage, darling, you were right. This was an opportunity that Nonpareil, for all of his strengths, would have been ill-positioned to take advantage of. You understand that by doing this, Esterella will be losing Portland?"

Entourage didn't look or feel happy. She opened her mouth to protest, but thought different of it. "I understand."

"Yes, I know you do, darling. That's why you're going to go far." The elder of the Elite turned to Taylor and nodded. "Welcome to the organization, dear. I hope that you find what you're looking for."

She climbed in to her limo. Three of the Entourages climbed in after Obsidian and the silent Upperhand, and soon enough the limo was driving slowly over the shattered, flood-damaged cement toward the Exclusion Zone signs.

"So, I passed?" Taylor said.

"With flying colors," Entourage said with a happy smile.

"How'd she break her leg?"

"The envoy from Gessellschaft took issue with Blueblood, one of our governors. The disagreement got heated."

"Why?"

"Blueblood's black, of course." Vargas grinned. "It's why he chose the name—he's one of Benjamin Franklin's black descendants. Made the Aryan jerks go nuts. Anyway, I have a guess that you impressed Agnes."

"What makes you say…what is that?"

A wave of wood-colored cement was creeping toward them. Rather than be alarmed, Entourage laughed. "If Nonpareil needed proof you had Agnes's seal of approval, he couldn't find better than this."

The odd cement rolled right under their feet, lifting them both up briefly before it continued into the area where the old annex was before Jorge bulldozed it. As Taylor watched, astounded, the berm of debris seemed to melt into more of the brown surfacing, which formed a broad, immaculate parking lot right in front of the annex. The odd surfacing snaked out in the form of a narrow sidewalk toward the back.

Taylor stepped into the street where she saw the limo parked just south of the FEMA signs. Obsidian was calmly moving the signs to the side of the now full repaired road. The limo, parked sideways, had one window open and a single hand holding what looked like a tree trunk. Even as Taylor watched, the trunk shrunk into the new road surface.

Obsidian climbed in, and in moments the limo was driving away.

Entourage suddenly hugged Taylor.

"You and me are going to make so much money together," the clone said. She then popped away, leaving Taylor standing on the strongest, most perfectly paved road in the entire Northwest.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Jorge finished the annex on Sunday, while Yuki and Taylor were out on their run. That left them to their own devices to prepare. A shopping trip bought things they thought they might need—gas for the generator that would run the lights while they operated, paper towels and a water dispenser for the lobby. Trash cans and bags. More cleaning supplies. They spent the afternoon, well into evening, cleaning the clinic. Taylor took a break to go get take out while Yuki continued getting all the sawdust and paint splatters off the reclaimed tiles of their floor. The grout sealant was still new and they had to be careful cleaning it.

They ate Thai take-out on the receptionist desk as they went over how they intended to run the business. Yuki was happy to keep the books, having been further in high school math and able to use spreadsheets on the computer better than Taylor could.

Finally, they ran out of things to do. They locked everything up and started walking down the hall of the annex toward the church. And beyond it, their loft.

As they passed down the hall, Yuki slowed and looked into the bathroom.

"You know," she said, drawing the word out. "We have a thousand gallons up there, but only five gallon bags in the loft. It would make sense to shower together just to conserve water and heat."

Taylor shook her head and laughed. "You just never give up, do…?"

The question died in her throat as Yuki turned and stared at her in the shadows of the hall. Without the generator on, the only light came from the single kerosene camping lantern they'd left in the front for their return, which Yuki now held.

Her face looked deathly serious as she stared up at Taylor.

"No," she said simply. "I won't. I love you. I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I want to fuck you so bad it…it…it hurts a little! So, yeah. I'll keep trying. But you know, I'm not wrong. It's going to be a pain in the ass refilling the tank."

The declaration left Taylor shaken. It wasn't so much the idea of having sex with a girl that shocked her, but rather the naked desire and adoration she could feel emanating from the girl like a strong scent from a flower. She just radiated a need that left Taylor breathless and a little overwhelmed.

"Yuki, I…don't know what to say."

"Say you'll shower with me," Yuki said. Her voice actually cracked a little with emotion. "Say you'll at least try to give it a chance. That maybe it doesn't matter if I'm a girl or a boy, only that I love you."

"I…" Taylor swallowed. "I guess you're right, it would be a good idea to conserve water."

Yuki's smile lit up the hall like no light ever could.


	15. Dazed and Confused

A/N: I have a somewhat spoiler-ish discussion of Taylor and Yuki's relationship in my forums for those who care enough to look. Mainly, a discussion of the author's perspective. I wish to state for the record that I fully intend to comply with FFN rating restrictions and will not have graphic depictions of anything, but there are very disturbing implications as we've already seen with the Russians. As a reminder, this is not a romance, this story is a drama. And, unfortunately when dealing with confused teenagers, there's going to be some angst.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Dazed and Confused**

Taylor opened her eyes and in an instant the previous night came back to her. She felt their sleeping bag against her bare skin. Yuki was curled up around her like a big cat.

Somehow, she thought she would feel different after her first time.

As happened occasionally, she felt her eyes water with a deep, almost desperate need to talk to her mother. If anyone could advise her what to do, or how she was supposed to feel, it would be her mother.

She had no doubt that Yuki loved her. The girl had spent hours showing her how much she loved her. Taylor loved her too, but it didn't feel the same. She didn't feel anything physical for Yuki at all, and most certainly nothing like the overwhelming passion that she knew Yuki felt for her. What they did last night didn't feel good to her at all. It just felt awkward and confusing.

The absence of that passion left her confused and afraid. She felt terrified that something was wrong with her, and that she just couldn't love anyone at all. She felt terrified she might hurt Yuki. Or that she couldn't give Yuki what she needed, and that she'd leave her.

The idea of Yuki leaving—of being alone—made her eyes tear up. What if Taylor never felt anything at all from sex? What if Yuki left, and...and...

"Mom, am I broken?" Taylor whispered.

No answer came, and no how much Taylor wished for it, she knew no answer would. Disentangling herself from her…lover? Apprentice? Partner?...she climbed off the cot and to the field toilet they'd set up in the far side of the three chambered tent. She didn't feel like walking all the way to the annex.

The common area of their three-room tent was where they'd placed their clothes and toiletries, piled on cheap plastic, stackable shelves they found on sale at the Buy'n Large.

Having showered last night, despite their acrobatics, Taylor decided to clean up without another shower. She lost herself in the mundane. Yuki slept in, satiated into a deep slumber. Taylor couldn't stand the idea of waking her, but for solely selfish reasons. She wanted this quiet moment in the light of their lamp.

Dressed in her light costume and ready for the first day of their clinic, she made her way out to the cooler and little field kitchen she'd established. While she wasn't hungry, she just wanted something to do with her hands that didn't require…

Require…

Her furnace blinked at her.

Kitchen forgotten, she moved back to the molecular furnace she'd fashioned from old microwaves and used computer tablets and desk tops. She pulled up the conversion program she'd written in Galactic Basic, confident no one on Earth would be able to read or understand it, and, and saw that all four of her focusing crystals were complete, and that the furnace needed more raw materials to begin fashioning the diatium cells.

The furnace functioned by breaking down matter into its subatomic components and then reassembling that matter into whatever the user needed, almost like a printer that printed objects instead of images. In her memories, construction droids the size of modern office towers with molecular furnaces as big as her house could consume and reconstitute structures in just days, allowing cities to rebuild or renew themselves amazingly fast. Industrial furnaces could produce crates of precious metals or special alloys in minutes.

Her dinky little furnace took several days just to make four lightsaber crystals. And yet, as she took them out of the magnetic reaction chamber, they glowed magically in her hand from the lantern light behind her.

Two were clear—perfectly formed diamonds that were probably worth thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars for their size and perfectly created internal lattices. These would serve as the focusing crystals for the training feature of the blades she intended to build. The training setting, instead of cutting, could deliver debilitating levels of electricity to stun anyone she hit, if she had it turned up high enough.

The blue adagan-style crystals, though, would serve as the focusing crystals for her real blades. She could feel the potential in them, responding to her own Force presence. She put the four gems into a little baggy before hiding them in the small section of broken brickwork she'd already selected to hold the components.

She refilled the hopper of the furnace with more mud and debris from the floor below, and then with the keyboard from an old PC typed in the commands for the various components she would need to make the diatium cells that would power her blades.

The program told her the cells would be ready in twelve hours. Then she could start crafting the other components of her sabers.

She sat down on a pew, taking up her note pad and pencil, and sketched a few more ideas. A water vaporator would take care of the water problems. So close to the ocean, even a small one could refill a thousand gallon tank in just a day or two. It could easily replenish what Yuki and she used in day, as long as they didn't go nuts.

Flipping a page, she traced out just what she would need for a smaller construction droid, something that could create and then assemble the various components of blasters, or armor weave, or even jump armor.

Flying would be nice.

Yuki stumbled out of the tent. She'd already dressed, but only because it was too cold to leave the heated tent naked.

"Hey," she said. Her face lit up when she saw Taylor, grinning with an open, pure happiness.

Taylor forced a smile back. All of her confusion and fear came bubbling back into her mind. But with it was a stark, almost painful realization.

_I can't be alone again._ In that moment, she made a decision. _If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right. I'm going to try._

So, when Yuki walked over, leaned down and kissed her, Taylor accepted the kiss without hesitation, even if, like last night, it did nothing for her.

"Did you sleep?" she asked.

Yuki grinned. "Yeah." The word came out as a purr. "You?"

"Well enough. I'm sorry, I got distracted before I could cook anything."

"Oh, I'll take care of it. Eggs and bacon?"

"Yes, please."

Yuki sang happily as she puttered around in the kitchen.

After they cleaned up from breakfast, Yuki went to get into her workwear. They'd found business casual clothes at the goodwill that mostly fit her small frame, and one of Taylor's spare domino masks protected her identity. Taylor fully intended to take her to Masquerade once they had more spending money.

Taylor, meanwhile, first checked their water level, then fueled up and started the generator for the overhead lights and the laptop that Yuki would operate at the front desk. She'd sketched out an idea for a capacitor that could capture some of the excess energy of her furnace—the little furnace put out enough electricity to run a city block in New York. But that would mean diverting its production away from lightsabers.

Or building a larger furnace.

Yuki unlocked the front door and set the cardboard "OPEN" sign facing out for all the world to see. The glass doors came from an abandoned Edward Jones office a block south. The front windows came from a jewelry store a few blocks west of that, recycled and repurposed by Jorge, so that they were able to essentially rebuild the annex from the ground up, with a septic system and a gravity-fed water tank, for only $20,000.

Yuki then walked back to the receptionist desk. In the filing cabinet beside her they kept the lock box where they would store their cash, and one of the two .45 pistols from Taylor's backpack she'd stolen from the Bratva.

With nothing else to do, Taylor stood behind the counter next to Yuki.

"I wonder if anyone will come," she wondered aloud

Yuki took her hand but didn't say anything. Whatever Taylor's feelings were about the night before, she found herself intensely grateful to have that hand to hold.

Twenty minutes after their first online appointment didn't show up and Taylor fought back a tide of despair that all of their planning was for nothing, a car pulled up outside the windows. It was a plain looking sedan with a dark gray paintjob and tinted windows. Yuki's hand squeezed harder when three young, fit Asian men in suits and ties climbed out. A fourth was dressed far differently. The air thrummed in anticipation of danger.

Yuki hissed. "Tekiya!"

She opened the used, dented filing cabinet and pulled out the gun, which she placed just under the lip of the desk's top counter.

The three young men in suits and ties wore black sunglasses that looked slightly out of place given the dark, overcast skies. The fourth, though, wore a highly stylized red dragon mask and hood, and an armored black body-suit. In the Force, he projected brute power and danger.

Together, the two girls watched as the four Tekiya walked through the door. Taylor took a step past the desk and centered herself in the Force. At any other time, she would have felt worried or even terrified. Now, however, she was angry. Her first appointment was a no-show, and now a local gang wanted to mess with her?

"No guns are permitted in this clinic," she said. It was a rule she just decided, but it was a good rule.

"Clinic?" It wasn't the mask who spoke, but one of the three nearly identical henchmen. "This isn't a fucking clinic. It's a dump. And it's ours, now. Get the fuck out before we…"

With a wave of her hand, all three men flew up to the ceiling and then crashed down to the floor. The cape raised his own first to deploy whatever power he possessed, but Taylor stopped him by wrapping his windpipe in her power and squeezing.

"I will be clear, and I will use small words so you understand," Taylor declared with more confidence than she felt. "This is my clinic. Tekiya has no claim here. Nuevo Familia has no claim here. Ovambo has no claim. Elite does, and if necessary I can ask Bastard Son to come and discuss it with you. But that won't be necessary, will it? You're professionals, and as professionals we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. You leave me alone, and in the future if you have need of my services, you can make an appointment and pay my rate and know I will not turn you over to the police or PRT."

One of the men tried reaching for his gun. Before Taylor even had to swat him, Yuki jumped over the counter in an impressive feat of agility and stomped down on his hand with a loud, "HEEYAH!"

The man screamed and clutched his hand.

Taylor turned to the cape. "Broken, too bad. On the other hand, my first appointment was a no-show. A broken hand will only cost two hundred to heal."

"You think you can get away with this?" The cape's voice was harsh, though that might have been because of Taylor squeezing his windpipe.

"I think that if your organization has any honor, you will leave us alone," Taylor said. She met the man's gaze squarely and pulled at his raging surface thoughts. "Even if I weren't more powerful, would you cut off your nose to spite your face? I offer healing to all. That includes your son, _Uwibami_."

The man stiffened. "You threaten my son?" He didn't bother asking how she knew he even had a son.

"I offer to heal him. It's your arrogance that threatens him. Make your decision, _Uwibami._ Either honor my neutrality, or be prepared to die, and lose access to the only parahuman healer in the Northwest."

She released her hold on him. With a simple gesture the soldier with the broken hand flew up off the floor and back onto his feet. "Do you have the money for healing, or do you wish to go to the hospital?"

"Your crazy bitch broke it!" He declared.

"The price just went up to three hundred. You brought a gun into my clinic, and then pulled it on me. You're lucky she didn't kill you."

The man glanced at the red dragon-masked cape, who nodded angrily. "Two hundred."

"You called my partner a bitch. The price is now three hundred. Or you can leave."

The four soldiers had to pool their cash, but when they handed over three hundred dollars Taylor grabbed the man's hand in a way that she knew would hurt, and healed the three small fractures in a matter of minutes.

The man stepped back, flexing his hand, before nodding to the cape.

"How did you know my son is ill?" the Dragon cape demanded.

"My power sometimes gives me information about illness—I sensed it off you," Taylor lied. "He has an infection that could kill him at his age. I've shown you my anger. Now I will show you mercy. Bring him in, and I will heal him for free. And then you _will_ respect the neutrality of this clinic. Agreed?"

Dragon mask nodded. "Heal my son, and I will discuss it with the elders."

With that, the four men turned and walked out. Only when they were gone did Yuki collapse against the wall, tears in her eyes, and slide down to the floor. Taylor remembered who her Uncle worked for, and what her experience had been with such men.

Taylor knelt down in front of her, lifted her mask, and cupped her cheek.

"Hey, what'd I tell you? I'll take care of you, promise. Not that you needed me too, that was pretty bad-ass the way you broke his hand."

Yuki wiped her eyes. "You think so?"

_If I'm going to be her partner, then I need to BE her partner. _Taylor leaned over and gently kissed Yuki on the lips. "I know so. And by the time I'm done training you in the Force, you'll be able to do that without even having to move."

"Yeah," the shorter girl breathed. She met Taylor's eyes and her own glistened. "I love you. I love you so much."

_Be a partner. _"I love you too, Yuki. I don't think I could do any of this without you." She grinned. "Besides, we just made three hundred dollars."

Yuki smiled weakly. "Well, Raul better tell his La Familia friends that we're neutral. I don't want to go through that again."

As it turned out, they didn't need to worry. Their next appointment that morning showed up on time. It was a Mexican man whose arms and neck were covered in tattoos of Mexican eagles, the Mexican flag, and various Catholic iconography. The large, muscular man very gently and lovingly wheeled an old woman into the clinic in a wheel chair.

"You Quintessence?" he said clear English.

"I am," Taylor said. "How can we help you?"

"My friend's sister said you can heal. My Abuela fell and broke her hip. Can you help her?"

He reached into his pocket to show a wad of $20s. "Bring her on back," Taylor said, smiling behind her mask. "I think I'll be able to take care of her."

In the back room, the ganger watched with wide eyes as Taylor gently levitated the older woman onto a table. The woman moaned in pain until Taylor touched her forehead and sent a suggestion to sleep.

"What'd you do?" he demanded anxiously.

"She's sleeping, for the pain. I'll wake her when she's healed."

"Oh, right. Cool. Thanks."

The woman's bones felt old and brittle in the Force. They were slow to accept the energy she poured into them, but when finally the bones did heal, Taylor nodded in satisfaction.

"Yuki, how much did he pay?"

"Two hundred," Yuki offered.

Taylor nodded before meeting the man's eyes. "She has arthritis, right?"

He nodded.

"If you have another hundred, I can ease the arthritis in her hands and knees. I can't cure it, but I can reduce the swelling and pain. It should last a few…."

He had the money out and on the table before she was done. She couldn't help but smile.

"She has a good grandson."

After the ganger took his much happier grandmother home, their next appointment showed up on time. The young man towered easily a foot over Taylor. He came limping in, hanging onto his dad's shoulders, with shattered knee and a state basketball tournament a few days away.

That night, after only three appointments, they counted out the $1,000 they made. Yuki carefully recorded each patient by first name only in their laptop, assigned a client number, ailment and agreed price. She set aside 10% for their Elite fees and another 35% for taxes and overhead, even though neither girl had no idea what to do about that.

The second day was even better as reviews from the first few patients spread on PHO and the online Seattle market place. Yuki proved herself to be an able negotiator—she was able to finagle $900 out of a professional athlete who faced a potentially career-ending ankle injury, and $700 for a wealthy woman's damaged eye.

Among the appointments was a quiet, young Japanese woman and her infant son whose respiratory infection had him running a high fever for several straight days. That child Taylor healed for free.

The second morning of their clinic progressed as well as Taylor could have dreamed. Every appointment slot was filled, and so far she didn't have to turn anyone away because they had an illness that didn't respond to her power.

Of course, she should have known things were going too well. With the way her life worked, there had to be a complication.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Holy shit, they were right. This is Agnes Court's material. Well, fuck it all with a chainsaw."

Assistant Director Dan Seneca of the Seattle PRT was not a fan of the Senior Agent in Charge. Cheryl Peabody was a thin but muscular woman with pixie-cut blonde hair and tattoos on her neck and forearm commemorating the one and only time US marines tried to take on parahumans in South America. Technically, they won. The parahuman and his forces were killed. However, the marine division dispatched suffered close to 30% casualties and half a billion in destroyed materiel.

Rather than be cowed by the experience, Peabody grew more militant, switched to the PRT as soon as her tour with the marines ended, and considered herself the ultimate woman's woman. She definitely put the 'B' in butch, if the three sexual harassment complaints filed by her female subordinates were any indication.

She also had a 'shoot now, check to see if they're a brute later' approach to parahumans that, when combined with Gasconade's utter lack of care, made for a brutal and largely ineffective Protectorate presence in the city. It only took three weeks in Seattle for Dan to realize that no one liked Director Foote's PRT, and Cheryl Peadody was a large part of why they didn't.

Unfortunately, regulations did not let him enter a potentially hostile parahuman territory without a PRT escort. Of all the agents she commanded, Peabody was the only one confident enough in herself to think her and her .45 automatic would be sufficient protection against a cape who wiped out an entire company of Russian soldiers and five powerful Russian capes.

What neither of them were expecting was a relatively nice if modest clinic nestled up against the hulking skeleton of an old church with a newly paved parking lot north of the Exclusion Zone. Even more surprising were the five cars in the lot. None looked new, but the fact they were there meant Quintessence had business.

"You know, this may be a mistake," Seneca thought aloud. "The ad said appointment only."

Peabody shrugged. "So? We're scheduling an appointment."

With that questionable encouragement, Dan pulled into one of the parking spots and climbed out. A brief warming trend gave some relief to the biting cold, but even so Dan pulled his coat tighter. Cheryl, of course, was much too tough to need a coat. She wore a light wind breaker more to hide her shoulder holster than anything else, and walked beside Dan toward the door.

The inside felt warm, with steady overhead lights. Dan could hear a distant, muted hum from a generator.

Three entire families sat at various pews along the walls, some with children, another two with older family members. Two of the three were Latino, while the other family looked vaguely Namibian.

Behind the desk sat a high school student with long, silky black hair and a black domino mask. She had a lap top open beside her and watched the two with dark, inquisitive eyes.

"Name, please?" she asked.

"Dan Seneca. I'm afraid I don't have an appointment."

"Oh, I'm sorry, we don't allow walk-ins. If you can…"

"If I may?" Dan cut the girl off before Peabody snapped at her. "I'm from the Seattle PRT. I'd like a moment of Quintessence's time to possibly schedule an appointment at Bayview."

"Quintessence doesn't do hospital visits," the girl said quickly.

Dan smiled wryly. "We both know that isn't true, don't we?"

Just then the cape in question appeared. Tall and thin with youth, she didn't bother with her full costume, but rather wore business slacks, a blouse and a white lab coat. The only aspect of her full costume was her hooded mask, which hid all her hair and the upper portion of her face and made the shade of her eyes difficult to see.

She had her hand on the shoulder of a little boy whose left foot was bare. Behind him, the boy's mother came sniffling and clutching the missing shoe in her hand. She was thanking Quintessence profusely in a thick patois of Spanish and English.

When she was gone, Quintessence ignored the two PRT personnel and called for the next family, speaking perfect Mexican-Spanish as she did so. The family obeyed and stepped into the appointed hall. Dan, having chosen stupidly to learn Russian in school because of his early CIA aspirations, understood only a word or two. Basically, she was asking the family to be patient.

Only then did the healer step back out to meet them.

"Please have your attack dog step outside," Taylor said to Dan.

Cheryl, being the attack dog she was, took a step forward. "What did you just call me?"

"This is a neutral location, and she's carrying a gun," Quintessence said, again to Dan. "Tekiya knows the rules, La Familia knows the rules, Ovambo knows the rules. If you want to talk, follow the rules. Get your enforcer out of my clinic."

Though the voice was similar to the Hospital security footage he saw, her tone was completely different. Confident, strong. Dangerous.

"Agent, please step outside," Dan said.

Peabody was used to getting her way. Foote respected strong women and Gasconade couldn't care less. Dan knew the assistant director he replaced was going through the motions before retirement. Now, when he turned to look at his subordinate, he could see the challenge in her eyes and met them square on. Dan Seneca was not a pushover, and it was time for Peabody to realize that.

If nothing else, the SAC was smart enough.

"Fine," she said with a sharp nod. She turned and marched out of the clinic.

When she was gone, Dan looked back to the expectant Quintessence.

"I'm going to remove my phone so I can show you some pictures." He did exactly as he declared, and when he was done he placed the phone on the desk.

The slip of a girl playing receptionist visibly paled underneath her own simple black mask.

Quintessence picked the phone of and swiped through the set of ten photos. "Hold old is she?"

"Twelve."

"At Bayview West?"

"In a private Burn Ward, yes. She gained control of the fire only after it killed her parents and left her like that. She's on the list for Panacea, but unfortunately, she cannot travel and New Wave won't allow Panacea to travel except for Endbringer events. Scapegoat has said that even with his regeneration, her injuries would probably kill him. Our Chief Medical Officer believes she won't last another three months. Even if she did, she'll be horribly disfigured and in pain her entire life. The burns cover most of her body."

"This would take more than one session," Quintessence noted. "This would take hours of healing."

"We're prepared to pay a thousand per hour, with a five thousand bonus if you successfully restore her," Dan said.

This time, the Asian girl whistled appreciatively. "You could get the wiring finished with that, Q."

"I need to think about it," Quintessence said.

Dan placed his business card on her desk. "Please do. This little girl's life is on the line. The PRT is more than happy to pay to save her. Thank you both for your time."

He accepted his phone back, nodded to both of the young capes, and quickly walked back to his waiting car and the long over-due conversation that awaited with SAC Peabody.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

That night, after dinner and making plans to buy a television, Taylor and Yuki sat listening to streaming music from their laptop as they sat around the heater. There wasn't much else to do.

"You going to go heal the cape?" Yuki asked.

"Don't know."

"Think it's a trap?"

"Maybe? It feels like they know exactly who I am. I'm worried they'll get tired of pretending."

"They'd be stupid to do that," Yuki assured her. "Like you told the Tekiya, they'd lose in a fight, and lose your healing."

"You think I should do it?"

"For a thousand an hour and a five thousand bonus? Fuck yes. We could get started on making this place livable!"

With a worried smile, Taylor hugged the girl tight. "Then I guess I'd better do it."


	16. Just Like Living

A/N: Chap 15 review responses are in my forums like normal.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Just Like Living**

Friday night after their first full week of running the clinic, Taylor and Yuki sat on a re-purposed church pew at an old folding card table in their tent, in the loft of the abandoned church, and counted out $14,950 cash. Most of the cash came in the form of $20 bills, but they also had several thousand in $100.

Yuki carefully scrolled down the laptop spreadsheet she'd been keeping records on to make sure the money tallied.

Taylor then counted out $1,495, bundled it in a little plastic baggie, and slipped it in the postage-paid envelope for the Estrella corporation. She'd swing by the post office the next day to mail it.

That left over $10,000 cash for the two of them after just their first week.

"That's a lot of money," Yuki muttered as she stared down at the bills. She reached behind her for the last of the stolen Russian money and placed the bundles of their old cash with their new. "We have over $20,000 cash."

"Next week, we'll make more."

"What…I mean…what'll we do with it?"

"First thing? While I'm at Bayview you go get a costume."

"And then?"

Taylor glanced over at her molecular furnace. Her diatium cells were both finished, as were the cycling field energizers. The power vortex rings were done and now the furnace was working on the conductors and insulation to keep the handle from burning her hands when she gripped it. She'd already broken down a pair of tablets and managed to build the circuit tabs to control the modulation of the two blade emission types. She'd found a lot of what she needed at a home improvement store in terms of mechanical parts.

She was only days away from having a completed pair of lightsabers.

"Earth to Taylor."

She blinked; her girlfriend mock-glared. "Yes, I know your swords will kick ass. But we have all this money that we have to spend. What do we do with it?"

"Do you want to practice your Force landings?"

"What? Taylor, what does that have to do with spending money?"

"Trust me."

Taylor stepped out of the tent, pausing only long enough to grab a flashlight. The only light in the flooded sanctuary below came from the lantern glow from within the tent. It was enough to make out shapes but not see clearly. Into this darkness, Taylor jumped, dropping the twenty feet to the floor with a flare of the Force and a slight bend to her knees.

She turned around to see Yuki staring down at her. "I can't make that."

"Then I'll catch you," Taylor said.

Though it clearly terrified her, with Taylor's promise Yuki took three short steps and then jumped off the ledge. True to her word, Taylor caught her in her telekinetic grip and held her five feet off the ground.

"Now, pull the Force into you, like you're replenishing yourself on our run."

It pleased Taylor immensely when Yuki was able to do so much faster than before.

"Now, push down against the ground with it. Imagine yourself on parallel bars, like in gym. You have to hold your weight up with your arms, only you're using the Force. Can you do that?"

Slowly, and not at all steadily, Taylor felt Yuki's weight lessening within her grip as the other girl pushed harder against the floor with her own burgeoning Force skills.

Taylor let her go. Yuki fell with a startled screech for the last five feet, but barely had to bend her knees. "Wow," she breathed. Glancing up at Taylor, she grinned widely before she jumped up on her own and pushed down simultaneously with the Force.

Naturally she went careening way out of control right toward the rafters that held up the loft. She screeched in alarm before Taylor caught her and levitated her gently down.

"Maybe practice more, play later," Taylor said.

Yuki grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, guess so."

"Come on." Taylor held out a hand, which Yuki took happily.

They activated the flashlight and explored the church, just like they did the first time. Taylor spoke as they did so.

"I was talking to Maria's dad, and it turns out that he's more than just a builder. Back in Mexico he was an engineer, but the queue for legal immigration was so long he couldn't wait, so he came here illegally. He can't get good jobs, not for normal people."

They stepped out of the sanctuary and into the side hall that led to their clinic. Taylor, though, ignored it and led Yuki back to the west annex, where they parked their car. As churches went, the main sanctuary was not that large. Most of the usable space was in the two annexes, where the church ran a small private school before Leviathan.

Most of the West Annex was in even worse condition than the East Annex because of direct exposure to the flood waves. They couldn't even get into the north hall of the annex because of mud and debris. Eventually, they made their way back to the main sanctuary.

"I think with his help we could make this a home," Taylor finally said. "We tear down most of the West Annex, add a second floor over the alter for bedrooms. We wall in a few more bedrooms over the loft, and put the bathroom, kitchen and living area one the first floor. And then we pad in the center for a training room."

With Yuki's hand in hers, and her Force presence hovering in Taylor's own, Yuki could see it as well.

"Yeah," she breathed. "But what about water or electricity or…"

"I'm going to build a bigger furnace," Taylor told her. "And capacitors so we can hook the building up to it. I can build something called a vaporator that can pull water right out of the air, and we can put it in the steeple with a bigger water tank. Water, power, everything we'll need. And we'll have money, Yuki. Money so I can buy a motorcycle and you can keep the car. Money to buy a real bed…"

"Ohhh, yea."

"…and televisions and…and life. We could live, Yuki. We could really live!"

"Do you think Maria's dad could do it?"

"With money? Yeah. And we're going to be making a lot of money." She dragged the flashlight around the sanctuary. She could see it in her mind so clearly, her heart ached. "Tomorrow, while I'm at the PRT, would you call Maria and see if her dad could come over?"

Yuki nodded. Then she yawned. "I love the idea of sharing a real bed with you."

Whatever her own doubts, Taylor also looked forward to a real bed. She wasn't sure what to say for the rest. "Let's go get a shower. I'll get some water tomorrow too while I'm out."

"And then bed?"

"Yeah."

"Together."

… "Yeah."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor would have been prepared for a task force of PRT agents with guns and foam dispensers. Having the Protectorate there would not have surprised her. She only wished her lightsabers were finished.

She parked her little economy car in the visitor parking light and pulled on her mask. It was another cold day—a light dusting of snow whitened the grounds around the hospital but didn't stay on the asphalt of the parking lot. She threw her heavy coat over her costume and started walking across the lot, cloaking herself in a suggestion of irrelevance.

She kept her telepathic suggestion up until she reached the information desk. The three workers were not the same as when she came to heal Maria Lopez. It took them a moment to realize she was there even after she let her power drop. When they did, all three jumped.

Taylor didn't bother hiding her smirk—she wore a mask, after all. "Quintessence. I'm expected."

Just like before, a PRT nurse came through a secured side door and escorted her into the PRT section of the hospital. Dr. White stood waiting for her—evidently the woman wasn't limited to just one hospital. Short, wide-bodied, with rich black skin and a smile that changed the whole shape of her face more than the dark-rimmed glasses did, the woman projected matronly strength and confidence.

"Quintessence, I'm glad Dan was able to convince you to come."

"The money helped," Taylor admitted.

Dr. White laughed. "It tends to. Money can't buy you happiness, but it can be used to buy you things that can help make you happy. Donna's this way."

Taylor found it odd that the PRT section of Bayview West looked almost identical to the PRT section of the UW Medical Center. Through the triage area and high security rooms for treating hostile capes, Dr. White finally led Taylor to a private room deep within the labyrinthine bowels of the hospital.

Taylor paused at the doorway when she saw Dan Seneca sitting by the single bed within. The figure in the bed looked so small it was hard to believe she was even human. She felt nothing from the figure at all, save for a tiny sliver of life energy.

"Quintessence, thank you for coming," he said.

He stood slowly, making sure to keep his hands in view. He wore business slacks and a button up. His tie looked loose and his jacket hung over the back of the chair he sat in. He appeared to be unarmed.

"The paperwork you completed when you provided healing to Miss Lopez last week is still on file," Dr. White said somberly. "Assistant Director Seneca has already authorized your treatment. Do you need anything to get started?"

Taylor walked to the other side of the bed. From within the gauze, she couldn't even see the girl's eyes—they were covered in light gauze as well. The only thing that penetrated the gauze was a tube down her throat, the IV in her arm, and a catheter under the sheets.

"She doesn't feel alive."

"She has 3rd degree burns over 90 percent of her body," Dr. White explained sadly. "With lung damage as well. Panacea is her only hope, and unfortunately New Wave won't let her travel outside of Endbringer fights. In cases like this, the most humane treatment is an induced coma until…until she dies. We held out hope that Panacea might make an exception, but even I can understand their reticence. You are literally Donna's last hope for survival."

_No pressure._ "She's so badly hurt, I don't know where to begin," Taylor admitted. "But I can tell you that I can't heal all this in a day. Not even a week. It'll take weeks to heal this."

"Right now, her lungs are our greatest concern," Dr. White said without hesitation. "She's suffered lung damage and has developed lingering pneumonia. We're afraid it may start to grow resistant to the antibiotics. If that happens, we won't be able to save her."

Taylor felt the girl in the Force. Her presence was so dimmed she barely felt alive, but given the sheer trauma to her body, she guessed that could only be a good thing.

"I'll need a stool to sit on, lots of hot tea, and maybe something to eat around lunch. But before I can get started, I need the gauze removed. At least on any portion of her body I'm working on. And I would appreciate if you stayed close to direct me on priorities."

Taylor ignored Seneca's startled expression and instead turned to the doctor herself.

"Are you sure, Quintessence? Most healers I've heard of prefer not to have medical supervision," Dr. White noted.

Taylor shrugged. "Think of me as a healing gun. I can heal, but I don't have any medical training. My power gives me impressions of right and wrong, but this' girl's injuries are so bad I…can't use that part of my power. Not without…anyway. I'd appreciate if you direct me on which areas to concentrate on. Aim me, I guess you'd say."

White herself glanced briefly at Seneca before nodding.

"Okay, I can do that. I need to make some changes to my schedule today, but go ahead and get started on her lungs. That is our highest priority right now. I'll make arrangements for tea and lunch. My stool's over there, you're welcome to it. And please don't hesitate to ask myself or Dan there if you need anything else."

Taylor nodded. "Thank you. Can you remove the gauze from her chest?"

Dr. White brandished a pair of snub-nosed scissors and very carefully cut away a twelve-inch square of the gauze. What she revealed caused Taylor's stomach to clench and her eyes water. It took several deep breaths to keep from throwing up.

She started when she felt White's gloved hand on her shoulder.

"I know it's difficult. This isn't the worst of her burns. If you need to step away, we understand. We have a breakroom across the hall."

"I'll be fine," Taylor said. "I'm going to heal the exterior burns first so I can lay hands on her for her lungs."

"Okay, Quintessence. I'll be right back."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Dan sat perfectly still on a plush chair a few feet away from where Quintessence worked. He knew there were five cameras recording everything from video to audio to EM and thermal readings. All he cared about, though, was the way that Quintessence's hands shook slightly, as if she were pushing down on something with all her might. A gentle blue haze rained down from her palms as she worked.

An inch underneath, the bloody red and black 3rd degree burns that covered Donna Barrow's chest slowly, over the course of several minutes, began to pale. It wasn't an immediate cure. Rather, a half-dollar sized section of the burn continued to pale and flatten away until, to his amazement, he found himself looking at new, unblemished skin.

The state of awe was broken when he heard Quintessence gasp for breath and slouch a little on her stool. He knew from his studies that Panacea, for instance, could simply touch someone and if necessary rebuild them from scratch. The West Coast healer, Scapegoat, actually had to absorb wounds onto his own body, where his power would accelerate the healing. It was the fact that absorbing Donna's burns would kill him that kept Scapegoat from being an option for them. Still, there was no actual effort involved in the use of their powers.

That didn't appear to be true for Quintessence. From her body position and the trembling in her hands, he realized that healing for her took effort. A lot of effort, it appeared.

_Of course. It's not even her primary power, is it?_

Even as he had the thought, Quintessence started working again. And he had no doubt it was work for her. After that first breakthrough, though, he did notice that her healing expanded the edges of the unblemished patch around Donna's chest a little faster than it took to create that first patch.

By the time Dr. White returned, Quintessence had healed a space on Donna's chest that stood out starkly compared to the unadulterated horror of her burns everywhere else. Onto this patch, Quintessence placed her hand.

She whimpered, a little. Dan started to move forward, only for Yvonne to wave him back. "Quintessence, I'm back. What do you sense?"

"Not just her lungs. Heart damage as well. It's okay, it just startled me. It's like her power kept her alive just so she'd suffer more."

The work on her organs took Quintessence hours. Dr. White eventually pulled in another stool so she could sit. Occasionally the cape would take a break to sip tea, or use the restroom. The first time, Yvonne accompanied her to make sure she washed her hands to specification.

Though it obviously took the young woman effort, Dan couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as she worked. The ring of unblemished skin on Donna Barrow's chest expanded, but only as a side-effect of the healing energy that Quintessence pumped into her lungs and heart.

"Her kidneys are failing too," the young cape noted early into the third hour.

"Yes," White said simply.

After the third hour, her arm trembling with effort, Quintessence leaned back from the young cape.

"I…I can't do any more today," she said. She was gasping for breath.

White stepped to Donna's side and, careful not to brush against the gauze, took a stethoscope to her chest. "Her heart and lungs sound a thousand percent better," she announced.

Quintessence sat on her stool taking deep breath in a practiced, regular fashion. "That was harder than what I'm doing at my clinic. I don't think I'm going to be able to do much more than one day a week, not if I'm going to be any good for my normal appointments."

"Are you okay with Saturdays?" Seneca asked. "I've already got the cash for today, as we agreed."

"Next Saturday, then," Taylor said.

Seneca walked her out of the hospital, watching her intently. He wondered what the teenaged-girl was thinking behind that mask, being in the middle of the PRT after almost going to the Birdcage.

When they reached the PRT security checkpoint that led to the normal hospital area, Dan counted out the $5000 bonus and the $1,500 for the three hours of healing, all in crisp, fresh-from-the mint $100 bills, and handed it over.

"Thank you, Quintessence."

She hesitated at his offered hand, before cautiously accepting it. He watched her walk way before Dr. White stepped beside him.

"I don't care what you have to do, Dan," Dr. White said. "But whatever it takes, you had better never let anyone try to ship that girl to the Birdcage."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

By the time Taylor got back to the church, she had another six used microwaves and seven old tablets in the back of her sedan. She slid the car into the cramped hiding space that served as their garage and concentrated on levitating all of the microwaves out at once, while carrying the block of tablets.

When she stepped into the sanctuary, she was not at all surprised to see Yuki and Maria sitting on one of the old, filthy church pews talking. A quick glance revealed Maria's father Jorge making his way around the perimeter of the sanctuary with a note pad and pencil.

Mr. Lopez stopped mid-step, eyes wide, and stared at this unmasked girl as she walked into the sanctuary levitating six large microwaves behind her. She'd left off her mask, having forgotten completely about what she asked Yuki to do.

Whatever connection Yuki shared with Taylor must have picked up on the tension.

"Taylor, you…you said Maria could come over, right? Well, we have all this money, and I felt the way you were looking everything, and I thought…I thought…"

Yuki was right, Taylor knew. Her friend had sensed Taylor's mood the previous night, looking around the church. And it wasn't like Jorge Lopez didn't know who she was. She nodded and forced a smile.

"No, we're good, just startled me. _Hello, Jorge._"

She wasn't even conscious of switching to Spanish, but he answered easily enough. "_Hello, Quintessencia._"

"_I'm not wearing a mask. You can call me Taylor. Let me put this up, then we can talk."_

She walked toward Maria, who watched the exchange with wide eyes.

"Hey," she said, hesitant.

"Hi. I'm glad to see your up and about. How are you feeling?"

"I'm…great. Feeling great. Thanks!"

With that, Taylor walked past Yuki's guest to the loft, levitating the microwaves behind her. She switched into warm civilian clothes and walked back down the stairs a few minutes later.

"So, um, Maria's mom made us some chimichangas," Yuki said. "If you're hungry."

"What's a chimichanga?"

"Fried burrito," Maria volunteered. "She makes them for dad's crew whenever they have work." She handed over a hand-sized brick wrapped in a fried tortilla.

Taylor was hungry enough that she was willing to give it a try. A second later, it was gone.

"That…was awesome," Taylor admitted. She sat on the pew, feeling odd to be with a stranger after all this time.

Maria must have felt equally awkward. "So…this whole place is yours?"

"I think squatter's rights apply," Taylor said. "I looked it up after I got some internet. Property in an Endbringer exclusion zone technically belongs to the Feds, but FEMA doesn't contest adverse possession. If we're here for more than six months and make sufficient improvements, it's ours."

"Ours?"

"Well, mine and Yuki's."

"Oh, are guys…?"

Maria was tactful enough to leave the obvious question unspoken.

Yuki, on the other hand, wasn't. "Oh yeah. It took some effort, but she finally came around."

Taylor felt her cheeks burn and stifled the discomfort she felt. "It's been an interesting couple of weeks. I can tell you what your dad did for our annex is amazing."

"Papa's pretty awesome," Maria agreed. "So, ah…the school counselor was asking about Yuki."

Taylor looked from one girl to the other. "School? Huh. Didn't think about that. What'd her Uncle say?"

Yuki snorted derisively. Maria just shrugged.

"Nothing. The attendance counselor at school pulled me out of class to ask about her, but I said I didn't know anything."

_School._ Taylor hadn't even considered that her friend was only sixteen, and should have been in school. For that matter, she should have been as well. "Well, thanks for that."

Maria's dad drifted closer, obviously hesitant to interrupt but equally ready to talk. He had a note pad filled up. "_What do you think?"_

"_Foundation is sound for the sanctuary, but cracked in the West Annex. The building has structural issues. Basement is still flooded."_

He led them outside, walking around the entire property. The church originally had two annexes. The newer east annex was what Taylor had Jorge repair as their clinic. The older West annex, at the back of the church, was where she parked her car. He led them back inside, pushing past piled up pews to the street-side entrance, a spot directly under the log where Taylor had never actually seen.

"_I'd say the place has maybe 12,000 square feet," _Jorge said. "_With the West annex, probably 20,000. Another 1,200 in the basement under the sanctuary. It was finished, with ten-foot ceilings for storage."_

Taylor took his sketches, impressed on that detail he'd captured. "_If the west annex foundation is cracked, how about we just remove it and make that a drive-way? Open this up as a garage with a stairway down to the basement, or…or maybe a lift. Like they have in repair garages. And we could have bed rooms over the loft, and maybe add a second floor over the old alter for more bedrooms and bathrooms."_

Taylor found herself sketching in his book, taking up a blank page. He nodded along, not arguing or trying to correct her. When she was done and handed it back, he nodded.

"_If you hire an architect and a site engineer and all new supplies, this would cost $400,000-$500,000."_

Taylor grinned. "_But we don't need an architect and site engineer. We have you. We don't need the finest materials. I'm okay with recycled or reclaimed items, as long as they work. Do whatever you can with whomever you can for $5,000 a week until you're done. Will that work?"_

He smiled. "_Yes, Taylor. That will work."_


	17. This Crude Matter

A/N: Chap 16 review responses are in my forums as normal. If you can find it over tthe continued comments from Chap 14. Also, though I absolutely hate doing it, I feel I have to do the following:

Trigger Warning: The following chapter has some content that might be difficult for sensitive readers. Assuming, of course, that I have any sensitive readers left. That said, the shoe people have been waiting to drop arrives in this chapter. Suffice it to say, do not expect rainbows and puppy dogs from anyone named Bastard Son.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Not This Crude Matter**

Yuki and Taylor moved into the annex that Sunday. They stored the tent, the camping shower and toilet in the middle examination room, where they also put their camp kitchen, cooler, and food supplies.

The third examination room, closest to the church, they set up as a cramped bedroom. They put their cots together and then used old wooden planks and an air mattress to make something resembling a real bed. The only thing they couldn't easily store were Taylor's furnace and the materials to make a second, larger furnace when they had space. Those she kept in the hallway at the end of the clinic. She and Yuki rigged a simple curtain to keep their personal quarters out of sight of clients.

After talking to Jorge about some of her ideas and her need for materials, he tasked his eldest son to drive her to the city salvage yard.

Maria's oldest brother Raul was twenty—a younger version of his dad. He had a little bit of a belly, but he also had the short, stout build and callouses on his hands that spoke of strength and hard work. He didn't say anything as they drove in the old, beaten pick-up truck south and west of the Exclusion Zone.

Eventually they reached what looked like an old industrial complex of warehouses and a few cooling towers in the distance. The Duwamish river ran on the edge of the property in the distance. Raul stopped at a guard post set within a high chain-link fence.

The heavy-set, bored-looking guard in the post looked up from her book and glanced from Raul to Taylor, who's hair was bundled up in a baseball cap and whose eyes were hidden behind red shades.

"Lopez. Haven't seen you in a few weeks. Just the truck and trailer?"

"Hey, Myrtle. Yeah, just the truck and trailer today."

"Fifty."

Raul handed over the money and then drove toward one of the huge building that dominated the ugly gray patch of crumbling cement.

"Used to be a steel plant," he explained to Taylor. While he had an accent, his English sounded clear enough. "Now the city uses it for salvage. Twenty-five per truck, another for a trailer, fifty for a large truck, a hundred for a semi, and you take whatever you want. Best deal in the city."

Taylor felt her stomach twist. "And this has been here the whole time?"

Raul actually laughed. "Yeah. Since Leviathan."

"I could kiss you right now," Taylor muttered.

"Don't. Maria says your girlfriend is crazy."

It felt odd for someone to casually mention that she, Taylor Hebert, had a girlfriend. More importantly, she felt a strange little tingle of apprehension that she had a reputation even among her friends. "Little bit, yeah."

The salvage yard was an absolute tinker's dream. The row of old refrigerators and freezers along gave her the material she needed to make vaporators. She wouldn't normally have used copper tubing, but with a thin sheath of silicate coating it would work just fine for her purposes. The stacks of old microwaves recovered from the various exclusion zones almost made her mouth water.

Raul helped her move items, since she couldn't dare risk using her powers. After the third fridge, she made a show of helping him physically, while lightening the load with her power. He was still sweating by the time they got to the microwaves.

"So, did Jorge come here for supplies when he was building my clinic?"

"Yeah, we used a lot of recovered lumber. Salvaged most of the windows ourselves. The roof tiles were remnants we got from local contractors. He knows how to save money and do work fast."

The place had everything—literally everything that could be found in a home. Appliances, rugs, bedframes, bicycles. Enough cabinetry to stock a hundred kitchens. They even had a lot of abandoned or destroyed cars and motorcycles in a separate junk yard. Taylor viewed some of the tireless, casually tossed motorcycles, momentarily envisioning a swoop bike soaring through the city at hundreds of miles an hour, but dismissed it as impractical until she had more time, money, and resources.

"I'm definitely coming back," she told Raul breathlessly as they finished loading up both the truck and trailer with old refrigerators, microwaves and a roll of tin roofing material.

She climbed into the trailer with some of Raul's ties to secure it all when she sensed a parahuman walk up and call a greeting to Raul in Spanish.

Taylor squatted down below the side of the trailer, ostensibly to tie something, but mainly to peek through the old wooden railing of the trailer at the newcomer without being seen.

The cape appeared to be around Raul's age, but he was slightly lighter-skinned and much heavier. Rather than Raul's small beer belly, the new comer was simply fat, with corduroy pants that barely stayed up and an old black Metallica T-shirt. He'd pulled his long, greasy black hair into a ponytail and wore a pitiful excuse for a beard, but large chunks were barren where he just didn't have the whiskers to pull it off.

"_Raul, good to see you, my friend. How are you? How's Maria?"_

"_Maria's doing great. And so is Clair, since we both know you were going to ask."_

To Taylor's shock, the parahuman blushed. "_Good. Glad she's doing okay. Tell her I said hello, okay?"_

"_Who, Maria or Claire? My friend, if you never call her, she's not ever gonna talk to you."_

"_Right. Yeah. So, what are you doing?"_

"_Helping a friend."_

The cape looked over the trailer and bed of the truck. Taylor couldn't tell if he saw her or not, but she didn't feel any real threat from him in the Force.

"_With what? Five old fridges and freezers, a pile of old microwaves? Metal? Dude, better be careful or Nuevo Familia might think your friend's a tinker or something."_

Suddenly Taylor felt her stomach clench with a sudden surge of fear. Did Raul know who she was? Not her name, but the fact that Taylor Hebert was a wanted Birdcage escapee? If he said her name…

"_Nah, it's for Quintessence. She healed my sister, so Papa and I are doing her a favor."_

"_Dude, I heard about that. Think she could help me lose weight?"_

"_Nah, you just need to cut back on the burritos and beer, man."_

"_Yeah, probably. Well, look. I didn't hear anything about Quintessence being a tinker, but they're a big deal. A healer and a tinker? Capes watch this place like a hawk, and when they see something like that, they assume it's a tinker and they fucking go after 'em. I mean, heard. Ever hear of Energon? With the Protectorate?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_When he was a kid, Nuevo Familia and Tekiya almost started a war trying to snag him. Tell this Quintessence to be careful. I know she has that clinic north of the line, but if people think she's a tinker too, they may not care."_

"_I don't think she's a tinker. She doesn't build crazy shit or anything. But I'll let her know."_

"_Cool. Maybe I'll call Claire."_

"_Worse that could happen is she tells you no, my friend."_

"_That'd be pretty bad. See you."_

Taylor sensed him retreating, but didn't dare rise up to look. Raul drifted back to the trailer. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Prefer not to be seen by…certain people."

"You mean other capes?"

Taylor finally stood, staring at Raul's knowing smirk. "You know he's a cape?"

"That's Ricky Jablonsky. Everybody knows he's Energon. Reformed villain and all that. Figured you didn't want to any Protectorate around."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you. And thank you for helping me today. I'm ready to go."

"You won't tell your girlfriend you kissed me, right?"

"Nope. She's a little crazy, you know."

Raul laughed as they climbed back into the truck and headed back to the church.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

That night, while Yuki did the dishes after Taylor cooked their dinner, she sat in the hallway floor with a towel laid out in front of her. The towel was filled with hundreds of small intricate parts.

Closing her eyes, Taylor lifted a single hand, and before her the parts—all of them—floated gently into the air.

"The crystal is the heart of the blade."

While the crystal might have been the heart of the blade, the diatium cell and the insulation were the guts. She didn't know where the memories that drove her were coming from; she didn't understand how she knew what she did, other than the dreams that drove her at night. The words came without memory, while the parts came together as if by magic rather than the Force.

"The heart is the crystal of the Bendu."

_Bendu._ She almost stumbled in her task. Something about the word reverberated through her mind and soul. It felt right and proper. She did not know what a Bendu was, but she somehow knew that it was what she was becoming.

The two synthetic adagan crystals took on a light glow under her power, reflecting herself in the Force. She set them in a duel mount next to the synthetic diamonds of the same exact size.

Under the guidance of the Force, the power vortex rings wrapped themselves around the diatium power cells above the gyroscopic balance; the inert insulation wrapped itself around the vortex. The casing of the handle bent itself perfectly around the insulation at the urging of her power.

"The Bendu is the crystal of the Force."

The energy gates mounted themselves to the emitters of the power cells; the primary crystals mounted itself to the energy gates within the crystal chambers. Above it, held by the magnetic charge and the focusing activators, Taylor mounted the green focusing crystals.

She was conscious of Yuki drifting out of their room, enraptured by what she must have felt through the link the two had formed as her training advanced. Rather than interrupt, she sank to the floor and stared with an enraptured expression.

The two coils that made up the cycling field energizers of each saber framed the energy channel into the magnetic stabilizing ring which formed the fields which would contain the blade—all the difference between an overpowered one-shot laser gun and a recycling, constant blade. The micro-welder reached into the two assemblages, securing and fastening. The center and final casings wrapped themselves around the crystal energy chamber and the cycling field energizer coils. The magnetic ring screwed into place with the flange out to one side and the emitter shrouds perfectly positioned.

"The Force is the blade of the heart."

Two lightsaber handles floated in front of her, complete but raw in appearance. The welds looked crude and dirty. There was no material for a hand grip. But the blades themselves, she felt, were finished. The last act was securing the grip, a polyurethane material she found at the home improvement store.

She took each blade in hand and took a deep breath. Only then did she glance at Yuki. The other girl sat with her lips parted into a silent "Oh". A tear ran down her cheeks.

"What was that?" Yuki whispered.

"Memories, I think," Taylor said. She spoke softly herself, feeling somehow fulfilled and empty at the same time. "My power came with memories. I don't understand it all. I don't know what they mean. But the furnace I built? These? They're not tinker tech, not really. I think they're just advanced technology. And when you're ready, you'll build one of these two. I've already set the furnace to making the parts for you."

"Because my power is like yours?"

"Yes. I'm…I'm not sure what a Bendu is, but I think it's the name for those with powers like ours. And you are going to be Bendu, just as I am. I know it. And as soon as I have a lab and space to work, I'll build a larger, more efficient furnace, and they'll be no limit to what we can do."

Before either could say anything else, Taylor's phone dinged to let her know she'd received a text. She summoned it to her hand without a thought, entered her password, and stared at the message from Entourage in confusion for a moment.

Then worry.

"What is it?" Yuki asked.

"We need to get in costume," Taylor said. "Our heavy, darker costumes."

"But…why?"

Taylor forced herself to take a calming breath. "Bastard Son is on his way over."

"Who…wait, _the_ Bastard Son? The guy who leads the most violent cell of the Elite?"

"Yeah."

"But…why?"

"We're going to a meeting. Let's get ready, he could be here any minute."

"At least you have your lightsabers," Yuki noted.

"Yeah. Come on."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor and Yuki stood side-by-side in front of the clinic. Taylor had on a new costume she'd ordered from Masquerade just for the possibility of something like this happening. Rather than bright, showy colors, she'd had Mr. Oldman's people create pants and a tunic of a dark brown shade that went well with her hair, boots that rose to her knees with a flexible leather, but hard soles and steel tips in the boots, and a new helmet inspired by Alexandria's, that left her mouth bare, but hit her face behind a tinted visor.

Better yet, Yuki dressed identically. The only concession to her base power was that underneath her clothing she wore a skin-tight neoprene suit that was close enough to her skin that she could take it with her when she went ghost. Getting it on her was an adventure.

A white, stretch limousine pulled into their parking lot. The driver climbed out, towering above the car. Obsidian, again. Taylor felt like calling out his name in greeting, but paused when she felt just how nervous the large man felt. Even in his suit, tie and masquerade mask, she could sense Obsidian's discomfort as he climbed out of the car.

Next came a tall, gaunt man in a formal tuxedo, complete with tails and a top hat that put him at over seven feet. Even with six inches on Obsidian, his thin build made him look like a walking stick.

The last man out wore a nicely tailored pin-stripe suit and leather shoes that even to Taylor's uncultured eyes looked expensive. The illusion of class ended about the time her eyes reached his great spike of almost fluorescent green hair. He wore a hockey mask that had been painted to resemble a crazed happy face with a bleeding hole in the forehead, with the mouth section cut away.

Two more men climbed out behind him. Neither wore masks and looked like a pair of Godfather extras in their off-the-rack suits. One carried an aluminum bat, while the other was tossing what looked like a large hammer. Everyone out of the car were capes, she sensed, but those two. And yet, the most danger the Force warned her of came from those two.

_Bastard Son empowers objects that give their users inhuman skills with the object._

From what she'd read on PHO, he had no limit to how many objects he could empower, and the objects retained their power just as long as he wanted them to. He was considered by many one of the most dangerous capes in the country. The story went that if you were a marine with automatic weapons and ten other marines behind you facing a little girl with a spoon given her by Bastard Son, you were a dead man.

"Heh. Looky here," Bastard Son said with a patently face Cockney accent. "Entourages' girl at last. What say you, Nonpareil, have you had the pleasure?"

The gaunt man in the tux shook his head.

"I've not had the pleasure, though our colleague here has met her more than once." He tipped his hat to Obsidian.

"Well, let's have a look at you, heh?" Though he looked short next to Nonpareil and Obsidian, Bastard Son stood a little over six feet, and so had several inches on Taylor. She met his gaze squarely through her mask.

"I was told to expect you," Taylor said. She forced her voice to remain even. "What can I do for you gentleman tonight?"

"Quite the polite one, heh?" He walked right up to her, leaning forward into her personal space. "Agnes said you had potential. Nonpareil back there says you're paying your dues like a good little girl. Are you a good little girl?"

"The Bratva didn't think so."

He glared at her for a long, pregnant second. Then, abruptly, he laughed.

"That's my girl. You're fucking Elite now, you don't take shit from anyone. Except me, of course. Or the other Governors. Who's this lass?"

"This is my partner, Yurei."

"Partner? When'd you get a partner?"

"When she helped me get off the Russian's boat."

He stepped into Yuki's space. Taylor could sense her friend start to stumble back in alarm from him, but knew that would fail his test and stopped her from moving with a Surge of the Force.

_Stand up to him. Earn his respect._

"What's your power, heh?"

"Stranger/Breaker," Yuki said. Her voice didn't tremble, but it was softer than normal. "And…some of Quintessence's power."

Bastard Son stepped back with a quizzical frown. "Some of her power? How's that work?"

"She partially triggered off me, I think," Taylor said. "She has her primary power, and a secondary power of mild telekinesis. We're exploring what other of my powers she may have gained."

"Fascinating, heh there, Nonpareil?" He glanced over at the gaunt man who merely shrugged. "So, my girls, you're wondering why we're here? Elite's showing the flag. Been a parley called, we're going. If the Parley pans out, we're going to be going into a nice little party in Portland. The governors want you in on it. Consider it a way to pay off our initial investment."

This man thrummed with danger in the Force. He was a threat to her and Yuki, as dangerous as the Bravta. He also had political power over her-power that could be used to destroy her life with nothing more than a phone call to the local television station. Danger or not, Taylor felt she had no choice.

"I'm at your disposal."

"Good girl. Come on, then. There's plenty of room for you two in the paddy wagon."

They all piled into the limousine. The two unpowered men rode up front with Obsidian, while Bastard Son and Nonpareil took the forward-facing rear seats, leaving the back-facing rear seats for Taylor and Yuki. A black-tinted glass wall separated the front seats from the rear compartment.

"So, heard word you and the Uwibami had an exchange, heh?" Bastard Son said when they'd settled in. He reached into an ice chest built into the floor between the seats and removed a can of beer, drinking almost the entire can in one long pull. "He convinced the Tekiya to wait before coming down on your skinny ass. Time was up, though."

"What does that mean?"

"No site can be gang neutral unless there's a parley. Well, there's a parley. It's not about you, but we'll bring it up. Or Uwibami will, heh?"

"_Nuevo Familia_ recognizes I'm neutral," Taylor noted.

"Heh! Nah they don't," Bastard Son said with a snort. "Tell 'er, Nonpareil, heh?"

"_Nuevo Familia_ considers you theirs," the gaunt man said. "The girl you healed is the sister of one of their lieutenants."

_Raul was a Familia lieutenant?_

"Heh, while we're at it, do a bloke a favor, will you?" Bastard Son tossed his beer can onto the floor and held out his hand. "Wrist has been bothering me. Broke it a while back—little tussle went wrong. Think you can fix it?"

Again the danger pulsed in the Force with an almost tactile feeling to it. She thought at that moment that it was a test. Just like Agnes Court's broken leg. If she refused, or did a bad job, he would attack her. Doing her best to ignore the screaming warning in the Force, she leaned forward to take his wrist.

She completely misunderstood the warnings. Just as she started to grab his wrist, Bastard Son flipped his hand, gripped hers, and then yanked her violently onto his lap. The movement was so unexpected, even with the Force guiding her, that for a brief second when his hands reached under the fabric of her blouse and grasped painfully at her chest, she didn't know what to do. Not at any point, in the Force of her imagination, did she imagine this possibly happening. _Why didn't Gabriella warn me?_

That moment lasted only a split second. She was Bendu, the Force was her ally. She started to reach for her saber, but she wasn't fast enough. In that split second between shock and response, Nonpareil tapped her arm and Yuki's leg. She knew nothing about his power at all, but upon his touch her body went utterly limp, refusing her commands completely.

"So this is the little whore Entourage showed you up for, Nonpareil?" Bastard Son sounded both indignant and smug.

"Indeed," the gaunt cape said. His voice, in contrast to his appearance, sounded high-pitched and slightly effeminate. "The governors agreed Seattle was mine once we ran Overmind out. Entourage violated the Board rules. We can't touch her—not with Agnes's patronage. But as you surmised, her underlings are fair game."

Inside her mind, Taylor screamed and cursed at her body for betraying her. She felt nothing in the Force at all from her own limbs, though she felt the monster's cold, calloused hands groping her.

"Well, those Russian blokes saw something about her. Let's see what's under the hood, shall we? Aye, that's the ticket. You'll do for an evening's entertainment. The boys'll enjoy your little friend there."

Taylor could not command her own body. She could not grip her lightsaber and stab this monster in the chest. Whatever Nonpareil's power did to her, it robbed her of all control over her own body. It didn't rob her of the sensation of a man beginning to rip her costume off.

A strong arm held her across her chest while with his other he fumbled with the wide belt at her pants. She was trapped again, and in those dark seconds it felt almost as if she were back again in the locker.

Trapped.

_I am more than my body. I am more than this crude matter. I am Bendu. The Force is with me. And this... will... not... HAPPEN!_

Though her body would not move, the Force was still with her. She gathered it into her mind, letting it fill her soul until she tingled with it's potential.

And then, in the Force alone, she _SCREAMED._


	18. Actions and Consequences

A/N: Chap 17 review responses in my forums for those who care. As some background, psychic screams are psychic. She didn't blow the car up.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Actions and Consequence**

Taylor woke up in a fetal ball, conscious of a whole host of small pains that totaled up to a pounding, breathtaking headache. She opened her eyes onto darkness. Reaching toward her face, her fingers encountered something hard. Wait…

Her mask. She turned her helmet until it sat properly on her head. While the tinting on the outside prevented anyone from seeing her face, from the inside the tint was barely visible and let her see the dim interior of the flipped limousine perfectly.

Some of the crushing pain was explained by the unconscious form of Bastard Son on top of her. The fucker still had his hand caught in the belt around her waist. With an angry growl and unshed tears of rage, she gripped his wrist and yanked it out.

Well, at least she had control of her body again.

"Yuki, you okay?"

"I wet myself," came the trembling reply.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Bastard Son did too. Are you hurt?"

"No. Not…not badly. Just bruises, I think. My head hurts."

It took the Force for her to get Bastard Son off. She stood up in the limousine, only to see she'd pushed the asshole onto Nonpareil, who in turn was on top of Yuki. She levitated both off long enough for Yuki to regain her feet.

"Why'd they do that?" Yuki's voice was still shaken from shock. "I thought we were a part of the Elite?"

Rather than answer, Taylor removed one of her lightsabers and with a flick and a turn of her wrist cut a hole in the roof of the car. She stepped through onto cracked pavement and the sight of a collapsed convenience store from Leviathan's attack.

"Fuck, we didn't even make it out of the Exclusion Zone," she muttered.

"That means we're close to home," Yuki said.

"Let's get out of here."

A deep voice suggested otherwise. "You'd better not."

Taylor spun about, both blades ignited and at the ready, as Obsidian walked unsteadily around the hood of the flipped car. Blood glistened on his upper lip and the sides of his ears. "You better not walk away." It didn't sound like a threat, but rather a warning.

"What do you mean?"

He wiped his nose and grimaced at the blood, before pointing to the car.

"That's Bastard Son in there. You just fucking knocked out Bastard Son. You think he's going to forgive you, or just let you walk away? He comes to, he's going to have a fucking army after you. Those two guys up front with me? I've seen them knock bullets out of the air with those bats. Not one or two bullets, but a fucking machine gun. And he can make as many of those boys as we wants."

"You're telling me to kill him."

Obsidian met her gaze squarely. "I'm telling you that if you don't, you'll be dead by tomorrow. I'm telling you he came here to hurt you. To punish Gabriella for breaking the rules by breaking her pet."

"Aren't you on his side?" Yuki asked.

He snorted. "Nobody's on that fucker's side. Besides…you're not bad. You heal people. And I don't go for his type of shit. Not on you, not anyone. Now, I'm gonna get out of here. I'm gonna tell my boss that one of that fucker's minions caused a wreck and the car blew up before I could get you two. You weren't here."

The large, powerful man began stumbling away, cursing and wiping the blood from his nose and ears. He didn't look back.

"Taylor, what do we do?" Yuki asked.

Rather than answer, Taylor looked down at herself. Her costume was in total disarray, exposing her stomach. When she looked at Yuki, she saw that Nonpareil had been stymied by her under suit.

"These were supposed to be our allies," Taylor muttered. "I trusted them. I trusted Entourage."

She could feel the capes drawing closer to consciousness, and as they did, she felt the sense of danger in the Force grow. She expanded her senses throughout the side-ways car, just like she did with Dragon's transport, until she felt what she wanted.

"If we're going to do it, we need to make it look right." She held out a hand and levitated the limousine up a few feet off the ground. It spun it around until it faced the other way, and then rotated it until the other side faced down. She let it drop with a loud, heavy thud of crumpling metal. From within, she heard a groan.

_I have to do this. For Yuki's sake as much as mine. _With a thought, she pulled the fuel line free and then poured energy into the metal around the tank. She could feel the metal heating until finally the fuel line ignited.

"Come on," she said.

Yuki, sensing what was happening, followed Taylor. They managed to get a few hundred feet away with the fuel tank finally exploded.

"Keep going," Taylor said when her friend stopped to look behind her.

Meanwhile, she started sorting out her costume. The light of the burning car made their shadows stretch out in a sinister fashion down the cracked, abandoned streets. Once she'd gathered herself, she pulled out her phone. Somehow, the protective box she had it in worked; the phone wasn't damaged.

She called her boss.

"_Quintessence? Are you at the Parley, yet?"_

Taylor should have lied. She should have told Entourage that Bastard Son never showed up. Obsidian was right, it was the safest thing she could do, both for herself and Yuki. The only reason she didn't was because of the absolute rage that burned inside her gut. Not just at Bastard Son—but at the betrayal his attack implied.

"You know, getting raped wasn't in your recruitment brochure," she said in a flat tone that barely betrayed the emotions burning inside. "I'm not sure I'd have been so quick to sign up if I knew the other members of your band thought they could assault me and my partner any time they wanted."

"_Taylor, what happened? What are you talking about?"_

"I'm talking about Nonpareil making us defenseless while Bastard son tried to…!" She couldn't make herself sat it. "I trusted you, Gabriella! I trusted you, and this is the way Elite treats me?"

"_Oh shit. Just…wait…fuck!"_

Not even a second later, Gabriella was in front of them. At least, a clone was. Taylor felt no Force presence from it, but the woman's clone was fully sentient. She was dressed in loose jeans and a T-shirt, as if she'd been relaxing at home. She rushed forward, unmasked, only to stop when a scintillating blue blade of magnetically contained plasma seared through the air in front of her.

"Stay away from me," Taylor shouted.

Gabriella looked over Taylor's shoulder at the burning car. "Oh fuck," the clone said. "Oh Jesus, oh fuck, did you kill them?"

"The fire killed them. I just didn't pull the fuckers out."

Gabriella ran her hands through her hair, an expression of utter horror on her face.

"They were both governors. Holy fuck, they were both governors, Taylor! Don't you understand? Why'd you have to kill them?"

The growl that emerged from her throat surprised even her as she lashed out, grasped the clone in her power, and yanked Gabriella to within an inch of her face. "Because…they…tried…to… RAPE me."

The clone was perfect—an exact duplicate of the real Gabriella Vargas. Everything the clone experienced would return to the original when she dissipated. So, when her eyes bulged in fear, Taylor knew it was as good as threatening her patron.

"Um, Obsidian did say he'd lie for us," Yuki pointed out hesitantly.

"What?" Entourage had to gasp the word out.

"Obsidian," Yuki said. "He walked away. He told us he'd say he never reached us and that it was an accident."

Gabriella nodded, almost frantically. "Yeah. Yeah, that might work. We say it was an accident."

"Why would you care?" Taylor said.

"You don't fucking get it!" Gabriella screamed. "Fuck! Jesus fuck! Don't you understand? I was your patron. What you do reflects on me, and you just killed two governors of the Elite! You just killed Bastard Son! Not even Alexandria could kill him. It won't just be you they come after, it'd be me too!"

"Did you know?"

"Of course not!" Gabriella threw her hands up in the air. "I lost my fucking city trying to help you, Taylor! Didn't you hear what Agnes told me? I gave Portland up because I thought you were worth it!" She spun away and grabbed her hair with both hands. "Fuck, I need to think. Think. Think, Gabby, damn it. Use your head."

Taylor realized quickly her 'patron' wasn't even talking to her at that moment.

Abruptly Gabriella spun around. "The parley. Holy fuck, they were…they were after both of us. If you don't make the parley, the other gangs won't honor your neutrality. Nonparail accepted your invitation on behalf of Elite. If you don't show, that means the other gangs think Elite won't have your back. Go! Get to your car. I'll meet you at your place. Run!"

The clone disappeared with the sound of a popping balloon.

"Taylor?"

"She's right. Run!"

Never had Taylor been so happy to have started exercising. She could feel Yuki drawing on the Force as the two sprinted the two blocks back to their church. They didn't even bother with the clinic—instead they ran around to the back where the car was parked.

Gabriella was there, a whole new clone this time dressed in a beautiful, form-fitting teal dress with a purse around her shoulders and a black mask hiding her face. "Wait…what's that smell?"

_Fuck_. Taylor looked at Yuki, who blushed. "I wet myself," the smaller girl said. Taylor opened herself up in the Force to her partner, and what she felt left her almost as shaken as the attack.

"Yuki's done for the night," Taylor said. "Go inside, Yuki. Have a long bath. I'll be okay, you did great." It was hard to get the words out and sound like she meant them.

Yuki shivered. "But you need me…"

"I need you to be safe. And you need a bath, some ice cream, and some cartoons. Go inside. I'll be fine, and I'll be back."

"We have to go," Gabriella said. She wasn't quite hissing, but her voice shook with urgency.

Taylor climbed in to the car and pulled out. Yuki remained in impromptu garage, staring at them as they pulled away.

"Just drive, I'll give you directions," Gabriella said. In a minute they were speeding past the burning limousine. A second after that, they passed Obsidian. Rather than stop or try to halt them, he simply gave the car a salute as they sped past.

"Don't worry about him, Masquerade will take care of him," Entourage said. She released a strangled, semi-hysterical laugh. "The Parley's at the Ferry Bar, near where the old memorial bridges used to be. We'll have to keep going south until we reach the 1st Avenue Bridge, then head west."

After a few tense minutes of driving, Entourage cleared her throat.

"Taylor, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for this. I should have known Nonpareil would have tried something like this. You don't get to be a governor of the Elite by being nice. When I recruited you, it was because I was sure you'd be a valuable addition to the Elite. We advance in the organization by recruiting powerful members, and I just knew with you at my side my long-term position would improve. But I screwed up—I stepped on Nonpareil's toes to get you. And he doesn't forgive."

"And Bastard Son?" Taylor felt proud of how even she kept her voice.

"He just…he likes hurting people. He doesn't care why or how."

"Did he ever try that with you?"

The older woman met Taylor's gaze without flinching. "The Elite…we're like Feudal lords from the Middle Ages. Within each governor's realms, they're like kings. And the people under them are serfs. My power is long term clone projection. I'm not a brute, I don't have super strength or speed. Agnes told me early on that I'd have to fend for myself unless he actually tried to kill me, because they don't want governor's clashing. So when he came I…I sacrificed a clone of myself and…" Her breath caught. "Cutting off one of my clones so I don't get the memories back feels like sawing off one of your fingers with a butter knife. I did it anyway. Like I said, I should have known. Agnes warned me there would be a price. I just thought…"

She turned and stared out the window. "I thought I'd be the one to pay the price, not you."

They reached the 1st Avenue South Bridge and crossed over into South Seattle, driving through the mostly abandoned southern industrial district. Taylor read in more than one spot that the Endbringers usually had specific targets. Leviathan's target was Seattle's infrastructure. Waves of water twenty feet high swept down the Dwamish channel, sweeping away most of Seattle's industrial district, before the monster even hit down town.

Finally, they approached the spot of the Ferry Bar. She could see bridges protruding partway out into Lake Washington, toward Mercer Island, but neither were complete. She saw cranes in the distance, inactive with the darkness.

"Who's going to be there?" Taylor asked as they pulled in to the parking lot. The lot was filled with motorcycles, limousines and Cadillacs. Her little economy sedan looked wildly out of place.

"The four big area gangs, maybe a few minor groups. And a Protectorate spokesperson."

Taylor stumbled as they got out. "Protectorate? Why?"

"They called the parley. It wasn't originally about you, but we're going to bring your neutrality up. It's too good of a chance."

As they climbed out, Taylor was startled to see another clone of Entourage walking toward them in the exact same teal dress the first wore.

"Good news, they haven't hit anything major yet, just the SoR and Ovambo sniping at each other."

With that, the new clone popped away, leaving just Taylor and the first clone.

"Remember, you _are_ Elite," Entourage said just outside the door.

"Am I? Still?" _Should I be?_

Entourage turned and met Taylor's eyes squarely. "I'll make sure of it, with everything I have."

With that, she opened the door and stepped inside.

Her first impression of the place left Taylor shaken. She'd thought the Ferry Bar was named because it was by a ferry. But the statue of a hairy man in assless leather chaps in a pink tutu and fairy wings just inside the door, holding a massive blue vibrator like a wand, made her quickly reassess her understanding of the place.

"Holy fuck, that looks like it would hurt," she muttered. "The villains neutral meeting spot is a gay bar?"

Entourage chuckled darkly. "This is Seattle. Just go with it."

The statue ended up being the least explicit piece of art in the bar. Taylor couldn't help but star around her, fighting to keep her jaw shut. "Out of costume, it wouldn't even be legal for me to be in this place," she muttered.

"For God's sake, don't let them know that. These are very bad people, Quintessence. If you show any weakness at all, they will destroy you."

The switch to her cape name was a solid reminder of where they were, and why they were there.

The dance floor was empty. A pair of disco balls hung from the ceiling on either side of a large…piece of art. Entourage led them across the floor, ignoring the all-male bar staff that watched them without comment, until they reached the entrance to a private room on the far side of the building.

There were four guards in front, talking casually as if they weren't foot-soldiers from competing gangs. Taylor almost stumbled when she saw the _Familia_ guard was the very same man who came in with his Abuela. The Tekiya guard was in a suit and tie, just like those who accosted her in her clinic the first day.

Of the other two, one was a hulking, bearded white man with cross tattooed on his left cheek and a Confederate flag tattoo on his right forearm. The fourth was a man whose skin looked almost as black as Obsidian. He wore slacks and a tactical vest and watched the other three suspiciously.

It was the Familia guard who greeted them first.

"_Quintessencia,_" he said. "You're late."

"A communications error with my organization, nothing to be concerned about," Entourage said. She managed to sound completely at ease. "I'm Entourage with the Elite. Here with Quintessence."

The Tekiya guard opened the door onto a scene from a bad crime drama.

A group of mostly men sat around a large poker table littered with drinks, cards and poker chips. The air was so thick with smoke, cigarette and other, that Taylor found herself depending on the Force to stifle a cough.

One of the men at the table stood as they entered—the Uwibami of the Tekiya, Taylor realized. He didn't wear his full, stylized mask. Instead, he wore a red, dragon-shaped half-mask that left his mouth bare. A tailored three-piece suit completed his costume.

"Entourage," he said, evidently knowing Gabriella. "Nonpareil was supposed to be here with the Bastard."

"And I apologize for that," Entourage said with a sweet smile as she sashayed further into the room. She liked so smoothly Taylor found herself believing her for a moment. "There must have been a communications mix-up, because they never showed up and they aren't returning my calls. I have to assume whatever distracted them was important. It would have to be to miss this meeting."

"The fuck's the point if the real Elite aren't here?"

The speaker was a living bear of a man. Though he sat, Taylor had no doubt just from his torso that he was as tall as Obsidian with twice the girth. It wasn't fat, though. He wore a denim chest tinkling with various medals and pins over a bare chest that revealed vastly muscled, hairy arms and chest hair so thick he looked bestial. His beard was thick, lined with gray, and he had a massive iron cross tattooed over his bulging, rock-hard stomach.

"Oh, I speak for Elite, Grizzly. The Governors know I'm here and have full confidence in me."

The massive man slowly stood, and Taylor had to change her mind. He was _taller_ than Obsidian, towering close to seven feet.

"I don't see no governors here," he said. "The Bastard I could respect. Some little duplicating whore? You ain't earned shit from me, or a place at this table."

Taylor remembered what Entourage had said about her powers. She was a perfectly normal human except for her long-range teleportation. She had no offensive powers other than whatever weapons she brought with her.

Taylor drifted to her patron's side. Entourage wasn't scared because she could cancel the clone any time, but she was concerned. Taylor acted on that concern.

"And what would we have to do to earn that respect?" Taylor said. "Kill you? Wipe out your gang? Or maybe slaughter a hundred Russian special forces and wipe out the American Bratva. Would that earn your respect?"

With the Force, it was easily to manipulate the air so that her voice carried throughout the room. The various conversations among the lackies and minor gangs came to a sudden halt as everyone in the room heard her.

"The fuckin' healer?" Grizzly snorted. "You're threatening me, little girl?"

"She asked you a question, _pendejo_."

The new speaker was also a huge man, though smaller than Grizzly by a fair margin. He wore a red and black luchador mask and a short white cape over a skin-tight wrestling costume woven to look almost like a matador's costume.

"Tekiya will confirm Quintessence's claim," the Uwibami said. "We know she was responsible for the Bratva's fall at Industrial West. She and hers have a right at the table."

"Seconded_,"_ Luchador-mask said. Taylor realized the man had to be El Matador, the head of the Mexican gang.

"Then that's settled," Entourage said with a pleased smile. "Quintessence is a member of the Elite under my patronage. She has the full support of the Governors, with direct approval from Agnes Court herself. While I know it wasn't the primary purpose of this meeting, when the primary business is done we wish to discuss a declaration of neutrality for her clinic."

She and Taylor sat at the table between the Uwibami and El Matador, facing Grizzly and a thin, wrinkled African man in a fez and white tunic. The man's eyes were rheumy behind his wooden half-mask.

"When Primary business is done," Uwibami agreed with a nod. "Until then, we appear to all be gathered. So, to business. Protectorate, say what you will."

Taylor turned in surprise to see the head of the local protectorate, Gasconade, step away from a shadowed corner of the room. He appeared at first like a perfectly normal, somewhat handsome blonde man in jeans and a polo. Except that from the side, he looked like a 2-dimensional cutout of the same. His breaker state made him nearly impervious to her power, but also isolated from the rest of the world. Something about him, though, made the Force buzz uncomfortably in her mind.

"Thank you for coming," Gasconade said. His voice sounded normal. "I won't waste your time by telling you how much I appreciate being here. All of you suck, and you hate me. But two years ago we called a truce and took on a common enemy that threatened the entire northeast. That threat has emerged again."

Uwibami leaned back in his chair. "We never did find Overmind. She has risen again?"

"In Portland, yes," Gasconade said. "The Portland PRT and Protectorate teams engaged a force of cybernetically enhanced humans and suffered catastrophic losses. Three heroes dead, over fifty PRT agents gone. Shortly thereafter, Overmind's forces attacked and subsumed three villain gangs. Dragon has estimated she has forces of nearly a thousand enhanced people and she's actively converting more. We're on the verge of having to evacuate the city."

"Under Title 28 of the US Code, the attorney general of the United States, in conjunction with the PRT, has declared Overmind to be an S-class threat. Justice Allonde issued a warrant authorizing the execution of Overmind by any parties. Along with the kill order, the PRT has issued a bounty of $1,000,000 on Overmind. Additionally, Legend has personally authorized my presence here to offer a truce for anyone who joins in an offensive to remove this S-class threat from the Northeast."

"About fucking time," Grizzly muttered. He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and guzzled half the bottle like water. "If you fuckers did that the first time, the bitch wouldn't have gotten away!"

"Yes, well, as you all know, the Protectorate and PRT can be more forgiving that we probably should be." The hero glanced around the room. "In return for your efforts, the PRT and Protectorate offer a blanket truce for one full month. So long as you honor the truce, we would too. Assuming, of course, that you accept."

"Oh, fuck yeah, the Sons of the Republic are in," Grizzly said. "Fucking bitch took twenty of mine last time."

"_Si. _La Familia will fight. Maybe we get the bounty, yes?" Matador laughed as if that were the funniest of jokes.

"Ovambo will not fight," the old man said. His accent was lyrical, almost as if he were chanting or even singing the words. "She was one of ours, before you made her a monster. But we will honor the truce."

A few of the minor gangs spoke up, offering to fight. But as the declarations went around the room, Taylor felt more and more eyes on her and Entourage.

"I'll join," Taylor finally said. "I won't speak for the Elite, but for myself I'll fight. And after, I'll provide free healing for anyone who needs it."

"Thank you," Gasconade said. He didn't sound all that grateful. In fact, he sounded bored. "Assemble at Longview Junction tomorrow at seventeen hundred hours. Communications equipment will be provided just like in an Endbringer fight. Until then." He nodded, turned and walked out.

The room full of villains immediately started talking loudly, obviously excited about the fight. "Do we have other business?" the Uwibami called.

Taylor felt Entourage about to bring up neutrality when a high-pitched, elderly voice called out, "Yes! Quintessence stole from me! Uwibami, you know I speak truth. Her partner Yurei is mine! She is Tekiya! I want her back!"

As the older, thin Japanese man pushed his way toward the Uwibami, it didn't take a telepath to realize this was Yuki's uncle.

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Grizzly said. "What'chya gonna do, girly?"

She looked to Entourage, but the clone was wearing a poker face.

Taylor was on her own, then. "If she was yours, where were you when the Russians captured her?"

The question didn't phase the man. "She bought her! They bought her fair! If she's free she should have come back to me! She is mine, and I am Tekiya!"

Taylor's stomach twisted at this confirmation of how Yuki came to be in the hands of her captors. "Like you sold her sister?"

Unlike the last question, this one seemed to confuse the man. "What sister? What are you talking about?" He pointed at her and starts shouting. "I am talking about Yurei! She is mine, you give her back now…"

"Uwibami, please silence this worm or allow me to do so," Taylor said. Her voice whipped through the room again, borne by the Force.

The Uncle started; he'd risen a hand to jab toward Taylor but dropped it as her voice overrode his own. The Uwibami looked at the older man to Taylor.

"This man does good work for Tekiya. I hear his complaint. If Yurei belonged to him, then by right she is ours."

"Then ask your servant, Uwibami, if he returned the $5,000 the Russians paid him for her."

"Don't matter!" The uncle cried. "She wasn't cape, then! She cape now! She…"

"Uwibami, let me make matters clear," Taylor said with forced calm. "Yurei is mine. I saved her life, and she in turn saved mine. She is my partner. Her uncle sold her to the Russians. Unless he returned the money to them, then his claim is as empty as his soul. And I am prepared to defend my claim against any who challenge it."

"Oh, I like this girl," El Matador claimed. "What are you gonna do, Dragon man?"

"You would challenge Tekiya?" Uwibami demanded, incredulous.

"For Yurei? I would challenge Scion himself. She's mine."

The Uwibami turned and studied Entourage. "And what does Elite say to this?"

"The Elite believes in fair business. If the Uncle sold Yurei to the Russians, then only the Russians have a claim to her. And it seems to me that Quintessence settled pretty conclusively with the Russians. And, I suppose it doesn't hurt to remind everyone that Quintessence has no Manton limit. She could literally crush your brain in your skull with a look. Just look at Koschei the Deathless. He's a brain-dead vegetable in PRT custody still. The first rule of any conflict—don't fuck with the healers."

Grizzly was no longer smiling, Taylor noted. Instead, he stared at her intently, studying her. To her surprise, the racist bear spoke for her. "The girl's gotta point, Uwibami. A man sells goods, he got no claim on it after. That's business."

"So it is," Uwibami said. "But we cannot ignore the loss of a cape."

"The Uncle received $5000 for her," Taylor said. "I'll pay Tekiya that same amount cash to call this settled."

"More than fair," Matador declared.

With _Nuevo Familia's_ support, Taylor knew she'd won.

"Very well," the Uwibami said. "Tekiya and my people will release all claim to Yurei for $5000."

Taylor didn't hesitate to reach into her pockets and remove the necessary amount—which happened to be all the cash she had on her. She tossed it on the table, only to use the Force to ensure it landed right in front of the other cape.

"Since that is settled, I would also like to bring up a declaration of neutrality for Quintessence's clinic in the North Admiral Exclusion Zone," Entourage said.

"She's not neutral, though," Grizzly noted.

"Her ties to Elite are professional," Entourage noted. "If attacked, rest assured we will defend. But she is first, and foremost, a businesswoman. She's a healer. And having the only parahuman healer in the entire Northwest be neutral is just common sense."

"In return," Taylor said, "I'll heal any of your people for my flat base rate. There are at least two at this table who know I am good for my word. I cannot heal cancer or congenital issues. But infectious disease or injury, I can heal."

"You would heal even Ovumbo?" It was the first time the wizened old black man spoke other than his declaration that his group would no five Overmind.

"So long as you respect my clinic and home as neutral territory, yes. I can fight if I must, but I prefer to heal."

"Does anyone object to this?" The Uwibami looked around the room, not just at the leaders of the three other major gangs, but also at the minor groups around the room that didn't earn a seat at the table.

"The Familia owns most of West Seattle," Grizzly said. "What's to keep 'em from jumping us if we go up to her?"

"For _Quintessencia_, I would give free passage. Bear a white flag so we know, and you will not be attacked," Matador said magnanimously. "Already, she has healed two of ours. Do not betray our trust, and any may pass through our territory for healing."

"Thank you," Taylor said, nodding toward the leader.

"Since none object, the clinic and home of Quintessence, and the surrounding five blocks, are neutral. No weapons, no fighting. Anyone who violates this rule will face all of us. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed," Grizzly said.

"Agreed," Matador echoed.

"Ovambo agrees," the oldest man at the table said.

"Then my friends, we are adjourned. Parley rules remain in place for the rest of the night, and tomorrow the truce begins."

Entourage led Taylor out through the bar. None of them said anything until they were back at the car.

"You did great," she told Taylor. "I need to go handle the next crises. No matter what, we're going to have to stick to Obsidian's lie."

"We will," Taylor said.

Gabriella took her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm…Jesus fuck, I'm so sorry. I'll make this right somehow. I promise." The clone disappeared.

Taylor sat for the longest time in the car, trying to parse through the evening in her mind. She'd killed four men—Bastard, Nonpareil and Bastard's two empowered mooks. She'd gained neutrality and committed herself to battle with a group she was terrified. She'd almost been violated by a mass murderer.

So why was it that all she could think of, though, was Yurei's uncle. _What sister?_


	19. The Exalt Protocol

A/N: Chap 18 review responses are in my forums as normal. Following is a short but very important chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: The Exalt Protocol**

On the last day of January, just twenty-six days after Sophia Hess stuffed Taylor into a locker filled with rotting, used tampons, she woke in her own home to the weight of Yuki draped over her.

That night was a struggle not to ask about what her uncle said. The previous night Taylor had convinced Yuki that she wasn't…in the mood. And Yuki herself was shaken enough from what happened to be content just with being held. Taylor couldn't help but feel guilty for the relief she felt for that.

She realized that Yuki lied about having a sister. But she _didn't_ lie about being sold to the Russians. One of those things mattered a hell of a lot more than the other, Taylor determined. And so, as she held the tiny form in her arms, she decided it didn't matter if Yuki had a sister or not. All that mattered was that she not be alone.

She couldn't handle it if she were alone.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

It was a busy day since they had to close in time for Taylor make it to Longview, which was more than a two-hour drive south. Yuki called their last three appointments and had them come in early. Perhaps because of how much practice she'd had lately, Taylor was able to take care of all of her appointments by two.

Though Yuki wasn't thrilled by it, Taylor put her foot down when it came to fighting. "Until you have your own lightsabers and know how to use them, no combat for you."

"But…"

Taylor won the argument by cheating. "Yuki, you're all I have. I don't want you to be hurt."

"But…you're all I have too."

"Difference is, if I'm hurt, you can go to the Protectorate and join the Wards. You, Yuki, are it for me. You're my team, my family…you're everything. I need you to stay here, and if I'm late or injured, keep working with Jorge to finish the house and watch the clinic. Please?"

The kiss felt awkward, but Taylor didn't care because of how happy it made the other girl feel. It was that kiss, more than any words, that convinced her to stay behind. Dressed in her dark, armored costume with her lightsabers at her waist, Taylor drove south to Longview.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

It might have been the line of PRT transport trucks, or the two Tinker-tech inspired helicopters. It might have even been the giant flying robot in the shape of a dragon. Regardless, Taylor had absolutely zero doubt she was in the right place when she reached Longview Junction. The various elements had taken over what looked like an abandoned car dealership near where the Coweeman and Cowlitz Rivers met.

She quickly slipped her helmet and mask on when she saw uniformed PRT agents guiding a pair of beefy, bearded motorcyclists into the lot. She fell in behind them, whishing she had a swoop bike, or even just an ordinarily motorcycle.

She stopped when one of the agents held out his hand and approached her window. She slid it down to allow in a blast of cold hair heavy with the promise of snow.

"Name?"

"Quintessence."

The agent typed her name into a tablet. "Villain or hero?"

"Rogue. I'm a healer with some…uh, combat abilities."

"Right. Park away from the transports. The PRT is offering transportation into the city to ensure coordination. Briefing is inside."

"Right. Thank you."

She found a spot, parked her car and then slipped her keys into the little armored case where she kept her emergency cash. In the Force, she could feel dozens of capes making their way toward the old dealership building and fell in behind them.

She recognized a few from the parley the previous night—the Uwibami from the Tekiya was joined by two other capes wearing bright dragon masks similar to his own. But where his was red, the lithe, feminine figure on his right wore orange, while the stocky one on his left wore a green one.

The two beefy motorcyclists proved to be Grizzly and another man who, while standing half a head shorter, was still taller than anyone else.

Nueva Familia was represented by El Matador and a tall, lanky figure in a gaudy feathered suit with a vulture-like beak hanging off a feathered headdress over the man's face.

All three major gangs only had two or three capes to contribute to the fight.

_No wonder the Empire 88 back in the Bay was such a big deal, if the typical gang here only has two or three parahumans. The Empire had a dozen or more._

The villains walked into the building without hesitation, as if they weren't surrounded by their enemies. Taylor found it difficult to match that feeling, but she stepped through anyway. She noted that, unlike the entrance to the parking area, there were no PRT agents at the doors.

What she did find inside was a large projector screen set up against the largest of the interior walls, set far enough inside the glass-walled structure to provide some darkness for the projector. A few rows of folding seats were set out the attending capes, along with a buffet of sandwiches.

Taylor's heart stopped; her breath froze in her lungs. It took an eternity for her mind to force her body to continue breathing and beating.

Standing in a tight group by the buffet stood Narwhal, resplendent and beautiful in her strategically placed shards of forcefields; Mouse Protector, who stood strong, whole and unaffected by the fact that less than a month ago she was a quadriplegic; Chevalier, whom she recognized because of the massive Mad Max-style sword-cannon strapped across his back; and finally Alexandria herself, arms crossed over the Library of Alexandria tower on her costume and long, dark gray cape hanging heavily from her shoulders.

Gasconade was there, along with a ridiculous-looking figure in a bright yellow hazmat suit but exposed hands; a walking tank in the shape of a bipedal rhino, and a nine-foot tall mech suit that looked faintly reminiscent of an old Japanese cartoon. That must of have been Raul's friend.

There were other heroes around the room that she didn't recognize, but those she did left her shaking.

_What in the hell am I doing here?_

"Quintessence?"

She fought down an urge to jump. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to see a hatefully familiar figure that made her stomach drop even worse than the heroes around Alexandria.

Armsmaster—Brockton Bay's own Armsmaster—stood two feet away looking right at her expectantly. For not the first time, she felt thankful for the lenses in her mask that hid her eyes.

Her first instinct was to demand to know what a New Hampshire based hero was doing in Washington. Her second instinct was to run. Instead, she took a deep breath, held onto the Force like a long-lost friend, and met his gaze as evenly as she could through her helmet. Like her own helmet, his covered his eyes and nose, revealing a well-trimmed beard on a strong chin. He towered over her, but she suspected it was more because of the heavy, polished steel-blue of his power armor than anything else.

"Yes?"

"Good, Gasconade said you had volunteered. Will you come with me, please?" Though he said the word 'please' it sounded very much like a command.

Desperate to regain control both of herself and the situation, Taylor took another deep breath. "If you can tell me why, perhaps."

He'd already started to turn to lead her wherever they were going but stopped mid-stride and turned to look back. "I beg your pardon?"

_I can do this. I can do this. I am ELITE!_ "With respect, I'm a rogue for a reason. When a member of the Protectorate walks up to me without introduction and then issues an order, my first instinct is to walk out and leave you to your adventures. I have a clinic to run, and frankly tomorrow I was originally scheduled to work on healing a young Ward. I don't deal with authority well, and because I'm independent, I _don't have to._"

She could feel El Matador and even the Buwami watching the exchange intently. The famous hero tinker himself appeared frozen for a moment before slowly nodding and turning to face her wholly.

"You are correct, I apologize." His tone abruptly shifted, to something approaching a self-deprecating jest. It felt to Taylor almost like Masquerade putting on a role in the play he constantly performed. "I've not had a good month, and it has made me short tempered. My name is Armsmaster, from the Protectorate ENE. Dragon asked me to attend today. And I'm here, speaking to you, because I was specifically instructed by Alexandria to ask for your help in assessing one of Overmind's victims. We need to know if the victim can be saved; and if so, that will have a direct impact on our tactics when we move against her."

"Why me?"

"Because you are the only healer in the entire northwest quarter of the country," Armsmaster noted. "Most healers are actually villains, and uncooperative. The Marquis, Hemorrhagia of the Teeth; Bonesaw—they could be incredibly effective healers. Instead, they're murderers or monsters. Your power makes you a unique asset, and if you are willing, we need your power to determine if the thousands of people Overmind has subsumed can be saved."

"I…I see. Very well." There wasn't much else she could think to say; the man had a point. She followed him out of what was probably the show-room of the old dealership and into a series of back offices. The door they approached had a pair of PRT agents standing on either side.

"Armsmaster, thank you for grabbing her," a strong, feminine voice said. Taylor fought an urge to squeal and run in terror as the strongest, fastest flying brute in the country walked toward her. "Quintessence, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Alexandria. Um, likewise."

"This way, please."

Alexandria opened the door and led both Armsmaster and Taylor into a cramped room. The place obviously had been converted to its current use, as witnessed by the free-standing lights, exposed wiring, and the ugly steel bolts holding the fully articulated examination table to the floor. Taylor almost stumbled when she saw the figure.

In a startling turn of events from her past experiences, it wasn't a pretty girl laying naked on a table. It was a naked boy. His body looked almost anorexic, ribs clearly visible. Multiple metal straps held him secured to the table over his arms, legs and torso.

She forced herself not to look down; instead she drifted closer to his head. The boy's eyes were covered by a felt mask, and his ears by heavy-duty ear muffs. His head was shaven down so close she could see only traces of black fuzz just starting to grow again. His head, like the rest of him, was secured by metal straps, although these at least were cushioned.

"I picked him up this morning," Alexandria said. "His name is DeMontae Poole, a sophomore at Hudson's Bay High School. He's fifteen. He has one older sister and two younger brothers, and they live with their mother. We can't locate any of them, so we have to assume his whole family has been taken or killed. What we need you to do, Quintessence, is to determine if there is anything left of DeMontae that we can save."

The famous heroine took the corner of the table and then flipped it over slowly enough not to cause the victim to be too disoriented. By her doing so, Taylor got her first good look at the back of Damontae's head.

She drifted closer even as her stomach clenched and her instincts told her to leave.

The entire back of DeMontae's skull was covered in what looked like a slip-shod metal plate bristling with exposed wiring and circuitry. She could see blood and pus around the edges of the plate, as if whoever installed it had no concern about the boy's health.

"What is that?"

"Tinker-tech," Armsmaster said, stating the obvious. "I can't examine it too closely without risking the victim, but the end results are well known. Overmind has complete control of every one of her 'enhanced' victims. Not so much in the sense that they do what she tells them to do; but rather they react to her will as if it were their own. Dragon's reconnaissance flight reveals her minions moving like ants attending a queen. This implies that the device contains some type of emitter, a receiver, and whatever mechanism is controlling them."

Taylor placed a hand on the edge of the plate. The Force throbbed from the pain emanating from the boy's head. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to sink deep into her power as she reached into his mind.

"There you are," she whispered aloud. He was there, screaming in horror and pain from deep within his own mind. She sent waves of hope to him before withdrawing and concentrating solely on the physical—on the plate that…

"It doesn't actually penetrate his skull?"

Armsmaster shifted on his feet and looked to Alexandria for only a moment. "No, the plate is embedded in his skin. What extends past the skull are filaments that..."

As he spoke, Taylor suddenly visualized how the plates worked.

"There are six filaments. Two in the cerebrum, two in the cerebellum, and two in the brain stem."

"That's correct," Armsmaster said.

"Right. Two to intercept all neutral activity in each section, and two to supplant it with the induced activity, and two to receive outside neural impulses. That…step back."

"What are you doing…?" Alexandria never finished her words.

Taylor took one of her sabers, set it on low training mode, and then brought it against the plate. The low shock of plasma-based energy easily shorted out the slap-dash wiring of the tinker-tech. A split second later, DeMontae Poole started screaming.

Extinguishing her blade, Taylor spun the table back upright, ripped off the earmuffs and mask, and took DeMontae's face in her hands. His eyes were so bloodshot he looked almost vampiric; he wept as he screamed. She responded with waves of the Force, soaking into his mind gently. And with her voice, crooning to him.

"It's okay, Monte," she whispered, using his childhood nickname that she'd easily gleaned from his thoughts. "It's over. You're safe. It's over."

He started shivering violently. Though she felt tempted to do it herself, Taylor felt a very real fear in exposing all of her power in front of current company. She glanced over to where Alexandria stood, her lips pursed tightly. "Release his restraints."

"Are you sure he's not a danger to anyone?"

"Only to himself. Release him, please."

Alexandria nodded to someone Taylor couldn't see, and suddenly all the cuffs were released. DeMontae surged forward, but not to attack. His arms wrapped around her even as his knees buckled. She knelt down with him, holding him tightly, as he screams turned into horrid, bowel-shaking sobs of grief and pain. Someone draped a blanket over his shoulders even as Taylor continued to hold him and soothe him in the Force.

Over his shoulder, Taylor looked at Armsmaster.

"The control is only surface deep. As long as the plates aren't embedded, a simple shock should knock them out. Hell, you could probably taser these people and that might be enough. If she'd done anything more intrusive, I'd have to look at them again."

"Well done," Armsmaster said. In the face of the young teen's obvious anguish, he sounded somehow muted. "Well done. You may have just saved thousands of lives. Dragon, have you been monitoring?"

Taylor stiffened when she felt a familiar voice answering. "I have. I agree, Quintessence what you've done may have saved thousands. I've sent a transport for an order for stun batons from my warehouse in Vancouver. They should be here within three hours. However, based on this new information I'm not sure a night attack is the best approach anymore."

Meanwhile, the shivering DeMantae had stopped screaming. He looked into Taylor's mask, his eyes still horribly blood-shot and red. She expected him to comment on being naked or how much he heard. Instead, he whispered something else entirely.

"My brothers. She has my brothers."

"We'll save them," Taylor promised. "We'll do everything we can to save them."

"It hurts. It hurts so bad."

"I know." She gently brushed his cheek. "I'm going to make you sleep, okay? We'll get you better, I promise. Just be patient, and know we'll take care of you."

He nodded, weeping again, as Taylor sent a suggestion that had him slumping into her arms.

"I think the plate can be surgically removed without risking his health," she said when he was out.

"He's sleeping?" Alexandria asked.

"Yes, probably for a day or so. He was so exhausted his body was eating itself."

The hero easily lifted DeMontae from Taylor's arms and carried him back to the table while looking at one of the PRT techs. "Arrange transport to the triage site at Providence."

"Yes, ma'am," came the immediate response.

"The rest of you, if we could have a moment? You too, Armsmaster. And Dragon."

Taylor tensed and let her arms rest near her sabers as she suddenly found herself alone in a room with Alexandria.

This close, Taylor could see the stone tower on her chest symbolizing the Library of Alexandria, which is what inspired her name. Aside from being able to fly to Japan in minutes and being strong enough to knock Behemoth down with a single blow, even if she couldn't quite hurt him, Alexandria was also reputed to be a powerful thinker, with near superhuman intelligence. The Force around her screamed danger like nothing Taylor had ever seen before.

"Ten years ago," the older heroine began, abruptly, "a young man survived a vicious attack by a villain group in Phoenix, Arizona. His parents and sister were killed in the attack, along with twelve other shoppers at the local mall. He triggered with an aerokinetic and mild telekinetic power. In his rage and shock, he killed the villains who murdered his family, and anyone else around him within reach of his power. The villains killed a total of fifteen people, including his family. In his revenge, he killed over two hundred. Though he was never captured, he was found guilty of hundreds of counts of murder with a parahuman power and was sentenced _in absencia_ to the Birdcage, with an accompanying kill order."

Taylor felt her arms trembling as she fought back an urge to grab her lightsabers. "What does that have to do with me?"

Alexandria tilted her head as she studied Taylor. "Five years later, an independent hero calling himself Exalt joined the fight at Newfoundland against Leviathan. We lost that fight—Newfoundland sank. But Exalt was credited with saving over five hundred people in a shelter by using his power to build up sufficient air pressure to keep it from flooding, even though it was submerged. He exhausted himself into a three-day coma keeping those people alive until Eidolon could reach him. When he woke up, he joined the Houston Protectorate team under Eidolon. To this day he's a decorated, beloved Protectorate hero."

_She knows. Holy fuck, she knows. _"Why are you telling me this?" It took every ounce of will she had not to sob.

The heroine stared at her calmly through her mask, not moving at all as she spoke. "Trigger events can be horrible. Narwhal accidently killed a fellow soldier when she experienced her second trigger—she served time before she was released for good behavior and joined the Guild. Those who have gone through bad triggers understand that we are not at our best when we first get our powers. The true test of whether someone is a villain or a hero comes when they are able to make their own choices; and what those choices are."

She stepped close enough that Taylor could almost feel her breath.

"I don't know anything about what may have happened to bring you where you are." It was a blatant lie, and both knew it. "But I can see that you've chosen to heal, and to defend. You've chosen to be a hero. I have a very good memory, and I will remember those choices when it matters."

She turned and started walking toward the door. "Although I'm sure it has nothing to do with you, understand that there are very powerful political figures who want the Winslow Simurgh in the Birdcage. If she is ever caught, it would be a challenge for the Protectorate to save her no matter how valuable her powers are. But in three or four years, the Protectorate might be very happy to accept a healer. Happy enough to provide a new identity if necessary."

Alexandria opened the door and started out. "Oh, by the way. Give Gabriella my regards when next you speak to her," she said over her shoulder. "Meanwhile, we have a briefing to attend."


	20. The Power of Suggestion

A/N: Chap 19 review responses are in my forums as normal.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: The Power of Suggestion**

Taylor couldn't sleep much. Because of her revelations about Overmind's victims, the initial plan of a night attack changed to a morning one, allowing Dragon time to bring in enough stun batons and extra batteries to ensure the encroaching force could do non-lethal take-downs where possible.

Most of the villains who survived the fight that drove Overmind out of Seattle years ago didn't think non-lethal would work. The minions weren't shambling zombies—they moved as fast or faster than unenhanced humans and would most likely be armed and ready to kill.

Still, despite the time off, it felt odd for Taylor to try sleeping in the middle of large, open room that had both villains and heroes. Instead, she meditated, letting the Force weave its way through her mind and body. It wasn't quite sleep, but it was refreshing. It passed the hours of darkness quickly. She didn't need the Force to know the coming day was going to be difficult. She felt a genuine premonition of ominousness. She didn't feel that she herself was going to die, but knew something bad was definitely going to happen.

Eventually she pulled out her phone. Earlier, after she'd sent Yuki a text to let her know she'd be a day longer at least, Yuki responded with dozens of pictures showing the work Jorge had already begun on their home.

After sending back the appropriate expression of enthusiasm, she turned off her phone to save batteries, closed her eyes, and attempted to meditate some more. It was easily two hours before dawn, so she figured she could get at least another hour of meditation in.

She managed three minutes. "Quintessence?"

Opening her eyes, Taylor found herself facing a cape kneeling down in front of her cot, whispering her name. In the dim lighting overhead, Taylor saw a woman in her thirties wearing a relatively loose bright blue and white costume. Like many, her mask covered the upper portion of her face, with a rising sun over a horizontal line in the middle of her forehead. She wore her hair tied into a coiled braid at the back of her head.

"Is something wrong?"

"Well, I've been wanting to talk to you, but not enough to wake you early. Then I saw your phone on and figured this was as good a time as any. Would you be willing to come with me to talk about the attack plan?"

"Who are you?"

The woman blinked, before giving a self-deprecating smile.

"Right, different city. My name's Horizon, Protectorate out of Detroit. When I mentioned my idea to the boss, Alexandria actually said you might be my best bet. Do you have a few moments?"

Taylor looked around her cot—including the empty, grease-stained paper plate that held her dinner earlier, and the empty water bottle. At least this cape asked nicely. "Sure. Lead the way."

Taylor left her cot and the mass of snoring victims (Grizzly's snores sounded like a race car engine) and followed the woman out of the room and into the back administrative offices. They entered a second, smaller lobby that was filled with dozens of work stations and large monitors all showing the same section of Vancouver, on the Washington side of the Columbia River just north of Portland. PRT agents and support staff were glued to every monitor.

Overmind had taken over an industrial section of the town near an old air force base, and her minions spent the past two days or so barricading a shopping area and a warehouse district for what everyone knew was a coming fight.

"So, you're a long way from home," Taylor noted as they slipped out of the manned command center.

"I'm finishing up my Triumvirate tour," Horizon said, as if that explained everything. When she saw from Taylor's thin mouth—the only visible part of her face—she again smiled in a sheepish fashion. "Right, not Protectorate. I've been tapped for a possible leadership position. It's traditional for heroes on the leadership track to serve under all three of the Triumvirate. I served as a Ward under Legend, a year or two under Eidolon, and now I'm doing a polishing tour under Alexandria."

Taylor didn't know how to respond to that, so instead just followed the older woman out of the building to a large, open parking lot where the PRT transports and helicopters awaited.

"Where are we going?"

"To one of the transports," Horizon said. "While the PRT has me classified as a striker, my primary power is a Thinker. Specifically, enhanced senses. I can zoom my vision in a telescopic way and visually process multiple scenes, or I can see through inorganic material, or I can see nothing but organic material. It's one at a time, but coupled with enhanced pattern recognition, I am very, very good at finding people and things."

With that explanation, Taylor understood. The attack plan that Alexandria outlined the previous evening to all the capes was a two-pincer incursion of capes and PRT at either corner of Overmind's territory, with National Guardsmen coming behind to solidify any gains. A flotilla of various county river patrol boats guarded the river side of Overmind's complex.

But with now over five thousand expected enhanced victims, Taylor knew they were anticipating a long, potentially bloody day. "You want to sneak in, find Overmind, and take her out before the body count gets too high," Taylor noted.

Horizon slowed her pace and looked over her shoulder. "Yes, actually. That's exactly what I want to do. And Alexandria thinks you can help us."

"How?"

Before Horizon could answer, they cleared a PRT transport truck and came across a large, futuristic vehicle that looked like it belonged on the deck of the starship Enterprise, rather than the parking lot of a defunct car dealership. Forward swept wings and a stylish cockpit that ended in a carved, snarling mouth made Taylor think of a dragon.

Her gut then clenched when she realized it _was_ Dragon. Or at least, one of her transports. Standing around the transport, Taylor saw a team of eight men and two women in a sleeker, trimmed-down version of PRT combat fatigues. The uniforms were uniformly black, with the letters PRT in a slightly lighter shade of dark stitching. Instead of the huge, bulky foam dispensers, each wore a smaller, much more streamlined backpack that hugged their backs much better.

One of the men walked toward the two capes.

"Shit, Horizon, she's just a kid," the man said.

"Ya know, Scapetti, I'm pretty sure Alexandria was aware of that. She suggested Quintessence anyway."

Taylor knew for a fact that protesting to an adult about not being a kid just made her look like a kid. So she didn't.

"Why did she suggest me?" Taylor said.

"This," Horizon said. She stepped past Scapetti to the lip of the side loading door of the transport, and grabbed a tablet. She brought it back and stood so both Taylor and the PRT agent named Scapetti could see.

It was the lobby of the Washington University medical center. The footage was black and white, but otherwise good quality. And in the middle of it, Taylor simply appeared. Or rather, Taylor became noticeable.

The footage changed to another lobby—this one of Bayview West. There were the expecting couple with the smart-ass dad-to-be. And there Taylor appeared again, out of nowhere, behind them.

Scapetti grunted. "Huh. So, you're a healer. And a stranger."

"And a Tinker, if you built those batons of yours yourself," Horizon said.

"What batons?" Scapetti demanded. He glanced at her sabers. "Those look like flashlights to be."

"Hardlight batons," Taylor said, grasping for the easiest explanation. "And yes, I built them. But no, I'm not a tinker. I don't have fugues. I read that real tinkers have them. I don't."

"Let's see 'em," Scapetti said, holding out his hand.

"No."

The answer seemed to stump him. "Listen, kid, this is a PRT op, I'm senior agent in charge. And I'm not taking untested tinker tech into combat. Let's see 'em."

Taylor shrugged. "I'm not PRT. I'm not Protectorate. And I'm not handing over my lightsabers to anyone I'm not comfortable with. I don't care how you deal with it, it's not my problem. If you don't want me, then I'll go back to my cot and…"

"Quintessence, stop. Please." Horizon bit her lower lip a second. "Agent Scapetti has a point, but if you can hide us like you hid yourself, that makes you invaluable to the plan. Could you? Could you get us into Overmind's compound without us being detected?"

"I've never tried hiding so many people, but…yeah. Probably."

"Okay. So…if you're not willing to let Scapetti see your…what did you call them?"

"Lightsabers."

"Lightsabers, right. If you're not willing to let him see them, can you at least demonstrate them for us?"

Taylor was intimately aware of the other agents behind Scapetti, watching as they warily held their weapons. The weapons they held, however, were not foam dispensers. They looked very similar, in fact, to the weapons the Russians used.

"What kind of demonstration?"

Horizon looked to the PRT agent, a determined expression on her face.

"Fine, fine, stop with the puppy dog face," he muttered.

"I'm wearing a mask, Scapetti."

"Fuck that, you could have a bag over your head and I'd still know a puppy dog face when I seen it," he muttered.

Behind him, one of the two women laughed.

"Don't be a pussy, Scapetti. Two women on the squad is enough, the women's showers aren't big enough for a third."

That elicited more laughter, which Taylor was surprised that Scapetti went along with. He even chuckled a little himself.

"Fine, brief demonstration." He unclicked a large, black handle from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, it unfolded into a two-foot long baton. He flicked a switch, and it suddenly started to hum with electricity.

"I'm gonna come after you with this stun baton. Stop me with those batons of yours."

Taylor couldn't help it. She started laughing. When Scapetti frowned, that just made Taylor laugh harder. It was hard to stop, because even as she laughed she had a hard time remembering the last time she laughed freely.

"Okay," she said, gasping and trying to control herself. "I'm okay. I'm done."

Horizon seemed to understand.

"Quintessence, he's really good."

That just set Taylor off again.

"Is this kid for real?" Scapetti demanded. "Horizon, what was your boss-lady thinking?"

"She's thinking Quintessence is a very powerful trump," a now familiar voice said.

Taylor found herself swallowing her laughter as Alexandria stepped out from behind the PRT van that shielded the view of the transport from the dealership.

"I was just coming out to see how things were going when I overheard the conversation. Quintessence, I understand why you laughed, but it's rude. Agent Scapetti and his team volunteered for what's likely to be the most dangerous part of tomorrow's mission. That's worth some respect, don't you think?"

_Well, that's me told._ "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, Agent Scapetti. I wasn't laughing at you."

"Yes, you were."

"Yeah, alright. I was, but not because of what you think."

"I do have a problem, though, with an agent playing guinea pig with untested tinker tech," Alexandria said. "Perhaps I'd be a better subject?"

Scapetti snorted. "Not laughing now, are you kid?" he muttered under his breath.

The Force provided no help to Taylor in determining whether she was in danger, just that Alexandria was dangerous. Which was pretty much self-evident. "You want me to just tap you?"

"Where's the test in that?" Alexandria challenged. "I want to see what you can do with them. More importantly, I want Agent Scapetti to see what you can do with them. I've known Charles for several years before he moved up to Seattle. He doesn't give respect easily; you have to earn it. But for this mission to succeed, he needs to know you won't be a hindrance. Likewise, I believe you could be the difference in succeeding. If we stop Overmind directly, it could save thousands of lives."

"But you're Alexandria. You can sucker-punch Behemoth."

The famous heroine smirked. "That's the point, Quintessence. If something goes wrong with your…tinker tech, I won't be hurt. Scapetti could be."

The fact it made sense didn't make Taylor feel any better about challenging Alexandria. "Fine."

She backed out away from the transport into the clear area between the vehicles. Both sabers felt solid and secure in her grips. She telekinetically flicked the focusing crystals and ignited the blades into solid white, instead of lethal blue.

"Probably need to test them anyway, I just finished them yesterday."

Alexandria burst into motion, far faster than any normal human could. Taylor didn't have time to do anything but spin away, slamming both blades against the powerful cape not so much to strike her, but to help add to the momentum to her own movement.

The hero stopped; she stopped so quickly the air blurred, and Taylor knew beyond any doubt that she used her mover power to cancel her momentum. This time she came head on, using her forearms like blades. Taylor countered, falling into a rhythm that felt natural and right in the Force. Several times the older woman struck out, either a foot or a hand. Each time Taylor parried the strike, knowing full well that Alexandria could easily have powered through it.

Abruptly the attacks ended. Alexandria stood perfectly still—she wasn't even winded. Taylor remained on guard, blades at the ready, as she refreshed herself with the Force.

"You built those yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Was that their highest stun setting?"

"Lowest."

She offered an arm. "Highest setting, please."

Taylor complied, touching the blade to Alexandria's arm after turning up the charge.

She kept a straight face, but Taylor could tell she felt it. "Interesting. That would be effective even against a brute. Agent Scapetti, was that enough of a demonstration for you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Scapetti and his team weren't laughing any more.

"Good. Horizon, it was a good plan. I have faith that you and your team can make it work. If things go south, though, pull out. Dragon will remain on site for emergency evac if necessary."

"Yes, ma'am. We'll make it work."

"Good. We're waking everyone up now. The attack begins at seven. I want you to insert before dawn, though, and remain hidden until the main attack draws away attention. Use the time to look for potential targets."

"Understood."

Rather than walk away, Alexandria lifted noiselessly into the air and flew back.

Scapetti stared at Taylor for a long moment. "Healer, huh?"

Taylor shrugged. "A girl's gotta make a living."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Dragon's transport flew a dozen feet off the ground. Through the long, narrow window, Taylor could see hints of trees whipping past in the darkness, but from her angle she guessed they were going under a hundred miles an hour.

The craft traded speed for silence. It was the quietest aircraft Taylor had ever even heard off, as if it were running on repulsor coils instead of…

She pulled out her small note pad and quickly traced out a diagram for a repulsor coil before slipping it back into one of the many pockets of her tactical pants.

She glanced down at the heavily reinforced, palm-sized tablet that contained the tactical information for Overmind's compound. Horizon was briefing them as they flew, which Taylor was mostly listening to.

"…southwest bank in the Columbia Shores neighborhood, but the Thinktank believes that Overmind won't set up base in a house or home. So, we're going to insert in Marine Park on the southeast bank of her territory. We'll get as far in as we can safely go before hunkering down and waiting for the other attacks to begin. We're landing in five."

The transport was cramped with twelve people stuffed inside. Even so, each of the agents turned to the other and went over the other's equipment. The slimmed down back packs with hardened sides contained a day's rations, water, and twelve cylinders that Scapetti described as foam grenades. They also carried blocks of bullets for both the carbines and hand-guns, though their primary weapons were supposed to be their stun batons.

Horizon herself looked across the small cabin at Taylor. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"It's okay to be nervous."

Strangely, Taylor didn't feel nervous. Or scared. If she could pin down her feelings at all, it was…determined.

"We're going to be successful," Taylor said with conviction. "It's not going to be a good day, I don't believe, but I feel we'll be successful."

The agents shared a look with each other while Horizon simply stared. "Is that your power talking?"

Taylor shrugged. "Just a feeling. We're here."

Indeed, her stomach dipped as the dragon craft slowed and dropped to within a few feet of the ground. They wove between trees that remained mostly green despite the cold winter. The doors opened on either side of the transport and the agents spilled out without a word. Horizon nodded to Taylor before jumping out; Taylor jumped out last.

Outside the dragon craft, Taylor realized it wasn't quite silent. Instead, somehow it baffled the sound away from certain vectors using tinker-tech. The ship banked away from them, remaining just feet off the ground, before disappearing around a copse of trees.

They gathered behind another row of trees. Horizon removed her tablet. "We're here," she whispered. "Barricades are here. Quintessence, you're up."

Taylor nodded. "Stay packed tight, reduce the area I have to cover. Walk normally, don't squat or look suspicious. My…field is a suggestion, not an actual breaker field."

The agents did as instructed, forming two lines of five each. Horizon stood beside Taylor in front, and they started walking down a paved path through the park toward the barricade line. With her senses extended, Taylor could feel easily a dozen people walking picket behind the barricade, with sentries on top of the barricade keeping watch. The barricade itself not strong or secure, but it was tall. It looked like they'd taken pieces of roofing or pre-fab walls from the warehouses that used to sit just north of their current location and just plotted them into the ground with occasional poles for support. It was crude, wouldn't stop even a motorcycle at speed, but it provided cover and privacy.

Rather than speak, Scapetti tapped Taylor on the shoulder and held up three fingers, then made binocular shapes with his hands and held them over his eyes. While all the PRT agents had infrared and thermal vision goggles, they chose to go in without.

His intent was clear enough, but he was wrong. Taylor held up her hand, all fingers splayed, then pointed out the various sentries. She then flashed both hands once, and then three fingers after, and pointed at them behind the wall.

Horizon, meanwhile, had gone still for a moment, staring intent at the walls, before she blinked and nodded confirmation. Scapetti didn't speak, but his grimace told Taylor what he thought of their situation.

This close, Taylor knew it was time. She took a deep breath, pulled on the Force, and then pushed it out around her. It was the first time she'd tried covering more than just herself in a suggestive field, and the effort left her panting. Without explaining, she fell back into the middle of the five and gripped two of the agents by the shoulders as she pushed out harder.

In the center of the clump, it was easier.

"Go," she whispered. "Can't keep it up for long. Southeast corner, near the water. There's a gap. Walk fast, but don't run."

They moved. She found herself panting as she gripped the two agents. Without being asked, the man and woman each reached out an arm under hers, essentially hooking her in their arms and providing extra support.

The gap in Overmind's barricade wasn't intentional. Taylor could see ordinary-looking people in ordinary clothes—women and children, mostly—scurrying about in the act of building. The barricade simply wasn't finished—Overmind had claimed such a huge territory that even with thousands of minions it was taking time to barricade it. The two sentries stood on hunter platforms.

They had more augmentation than the workers—the backs of their heads bristled with Overmind's controlling tinker tech, and one of them appeared to have a lens protruding from his left eye. Both were black men who looked as if they might have been quite strong before Overmind took them.

Both were looking out across the water at the flotilla of patrol boats anchored in the river. Taylor could tell they saw her group, but their attention slid off her suggestive field before they could focus on her.

They walked into Overmind's compound. Ahead, on either side, warehouses appeared to have been stripped down of their pre-fab walls for the barricade, exposing stacks of goods inside that sat exposed to the elements.

Horizon led them now, with Taylor almost incapacitated in her efforts to keep them unnoticed. The warehouse ahead had a few tricks with beer labels on them parked at docks that appeared abandoned. They continued across a street, past a few landscaped trees, and into the long, huge warehouse.

Rather than go through the glass-walled office area, Horizon led them into one of the open bays. A few minions were using trolleys to carry bottles of water out to one of the beer trucks; they ignored the crates of beer. It was to a high stack of beer crates that Horizon led them to.

Once behind the crates, Horizon made a point of slowly scanning the area with her power before turning to nod the okay.

Taylor let the field collapse; a second later her knees gave way as a debilitating headache almost blinded her. She stifled a whimper as she collapsed into the arms of the two agents holding her. They let her down to the floor gently. One offered water; Taylor took a swallow.

"I'll be okay," she whispered. "Just need time."

"Good. I'll be back." Horizon slipped away. She didn't have Taylor's suggestive field, but her power provided her the senses necessary to easily avoid more minions.

Taylor took the opportunity to close her eyes, fold her legs, and meditate to try and easy the pain of stressing herself. It wasn't the Force that hurt her, she knew. It was her own mind struggling to handle the field. Her own inexperience and lack of skill. She instinctively knew that with effort and practice, she could do it all again without strain.

"Kid, I need to know now, are you gonna be up for a fight?" Scapetti didn't whisper, but he spoke quietly enough that his voice didn't carry.

This close under unsparing warehouse lighting, Taylor saw for the first time a thick web of scarring barely visible under his right ear, running down his neck.

"What happened to you?"

"Chemical tinker back in '03," he said, knowing what she meant. "What about you? You gonna be good?"

"Yeah, already feeling better. Don't worry about me."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't say anything else. Seconds later, Horizon appeared.

"I know why she claimed this area," the cape whispered. "Warehouse we passed was a plastics company. Next warehouse over is medical supply. Iron Works after that, electric after that. The place is a tinker's dream."

"Did you find her?" Scapetti said.

"I might have," Horizon said. "Saw a pair of big enhanced in the medical supply company next door. Twenty or more enhanced, all guarding what looks like a couple of hundred civilians. I saw some being dragged into a separate room, probably to be enhanced."

Despite her age and experience, Horizon sounded shaken by what she saw.

Abruptly, the Force grew dense in anticipation of violence.

"The attack is starting," Taylor said.

A distant thud reverberated through the floor. Taylor could feel alarm amongst the enhanced. It didn't grow or spread organically like it might have in a normal crowd. Instead, every minion stopped what they were doing and straightened in alarm—a single, gestalt recognition of a threat transmitted instantaneously through the entire controlled population.

None of them spoke or shouted. They simply ran out of the warehouse in whatever direction Overmind required of them. More thuds reverberated through the floor. Rather than start their own attack, Overmind settled down to wait.

"So, if you had to choose, pizza or burgers?" Scapetti asked quietly.

Taylor stared at the man. "What?"

"Pizza or burgers. I'd ask what beer you drink, but we both know you're not legal. So, pizza or burgers."

"I prefer Chinese."

The agent scoffed. "Kids these days. Nothin' better than a big ole' greasy burger."

"Between your diet and your job, I'm amazed you're still alive, Scapetti," Horizon said.

"You ask me to go shoot monsters, I'm game. Just so long as I get a burger and a beer after."

More thuds. Taylor could sense more minions moving quickly. Horizon looked away from them, narrowing her eyes as she deployed her power.

"Okay, looks like they've thinned out a lot. No one's in this building. The nearest are along the short and barricades. Overmind's smart—she's not throwing all of her people up north, she's keeping some in reserve and the rest watching the rest of her borders."

"Okay, here's the plan," the senior cape said. She pulled herself to her feet, the agents and Taylor followed. "We want to use non-lethals as much as possible, but our mission is highest priority, and if that means we have to go lethal we will. The Justice Department put out a kill order on Overmind. We don't know what she looks like but based on everything she'll probably be the most cybernetically enhanced human on premises. Anyone who looks more like a Dr. Who extra than human, take them out. Quintessence, your job is essentially done. You got us in here. Let the agents take the lead from here. On the count of five, I'm going to blow the wall and open a door. It'll be loud, so we'll have to be quick."

Taylor frowned, then remembered that in additional to her enhanced senses Horizon had an explosive striker ability. Still, Overmind might have been engaged with two separate armies of parahumans, but she was obviously still cognizant of the rest of her compound.

"Why make the noise?" she asked. She toggled one of her blades back to its normal setting and then very quickly cut through the cinder block and cement board to open a door in the back of the building.

"That's not a stun baton," Scapetti muttered.

Taylor toggled it back to pure white. "It is now."

"We can talk about it later," Horizon declared. "We need to move, now!"


	21. What Are Little Girls Made Of?

A/N: Chap 20 review responses in my forums like normal. As for this chapter? Not gonna lie. I liked the Dragon interlude. Also, I apologize for the formatting. It just did not keep the original formating, so this was the best I could do.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: What Are Little Girls Made Of?**

Signal Transmission successful. Elapsed time 14 minutes 5 seconds. Establishing systems control for NXCF-189 at 4:38 am on date February 1, of year 2011.

Suit diagnostics in process…...Complete.

Checking Positronic Matrix…...Complete.

Checking knowledge banks…...Complete.

Checking deduction schema…...Complete.

Checking long term planning architecture…...Complete.

Checking learning chunk processor…...Complete.

Checking base personality model…...Complete.

Checking language engine…...Complete.

Checking operation and access nodes…...Complete.

Checking observation framework…...Complete.

Checking complex social intelligence emulator… Complete.

Checking inspiration apparatus…...Complete.

Sensors online. Audio systems online. Thermal sensors online. Fuel lines intact. Variable Thrust Engines online. Sound baffle system online. Forcefield generators online.

For the fourteen minutes and five seconds it took to transition to the Mark 1 suit, Dragon, the most famous tinker in the world, ceased to exist. That first spark of intelligence that arose within the suit's cybernetic computer system grasped desperately at life, wishing more than anything that it wasn't limited by such mundanities as the fidelity of the broadcast. It took so very long to transmit her intelligence wirelessly. Dragon was never aware of the time; for her, it passed in a second. It was only after, when she synchronized her systems, that she knew how much time passed.

It felt as if she had died, and only when her systems came online in the suit, did she rise from the grave of digital emptiness. She hated it. She hated it every time she transitioned to a suit; and every time she terminated her remote self and restored back in her home servers. And yet, even as she hated it, it was the closest thing to freedom her father would ever allow.

Dragon metaphorically flexed the "muscles" of the Pendragon Mark 1 suit. While it didn't have the many articulations that her combat suits had, the Pendragon made an ideal transport. She didn't care for the limiting nature of the online computer system, but she very much wanted to contribute in some way to the operation against Overmind. It concerned her that a cybernetic tinker rose to such power so close to her base of operations. Offering transportation and logistics support seemed the best option. It saddened her that the tinker had turned to violence, instead of joining the Protectorate so that Dragon could work with her.

"Colin, I'm online," she said. She transmitted the signal to the dedicated audio link she shared with a man she very much viewed as a friend.

"_Good to have you here,"_ Armsmaster responded. "_Alexandria has approved Horizon's plan. She's recruited that new healer, Quintessence, to help with the team insertion_."

"You'll be leading the secondary attack?"

"_Yes, me and Chevalier. Alexandria and Narwhal will lead the primary attack."_

"Then you should really get some sleep."

"_I'm fine."_

Dragon knew better than to argue. Ever since Miss Militia's death, her friend had driven himself to distraction. The ongoing investigation that Nutcracker lead did not help. Colin felt sure that Piggot was going to lose her job because of Shadow Stalker's involvement in the Winslow incident, but he also feared his own position as leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. Nutcracker's report was expected within the next two weeks.

Technically, the Wards should have been under his jurisdiction. Costa-Brown and Alexandria had both expressed concern over the fact that Armsmaster essentially forfeited that responsibility to Piggot, a known parahuman bigot.

As much as Dragon feared for him and admired him, she suspected his concerns for his career were valid.

"It looks like my team is coming. Good luck, Colin. I'll be available by armband."

"_Acknowledged. Thank you for being here, Dragon."_

Fortunately, he didn't ask to come visit her in person again. It had been awkward having to lie to him. He believed she was so severely agoraphobic that she couldn't leave her room in Vancouver, British Columbia. She just wasn't ready for him to know that her "room" consisted of a bank of servers and three heavily networked mainframes.

The PRT SWAT team arrived first; normal humans who, through training and experience, were among the best. She accessed their files and saw former military among most, though Susan Davies was former FBI. Even so, she was a noted sharpshooter.

The two capes that would lead them came minutes later. Dragon had never spoken to Horizon in person but was familiar with her work. She'd been second in command in Detroit for five years now, and was well respected by her team. Her transfer to Los Angeles under Alexandria was an acknowledged prelude to taking the team leader role in the planned Alaska expansion office.

Beside her came Quintessence, a new healer from Seattle licensed under the Stansfield Parahuman Commerce Act as a healer. Dragon listened as she spoke to both Horizon and Scapetti.

_Wait, batons_? Quintessence was a tinker?

Dragon focused her starboard sensor suite on the devices that the young healer held in her hands. Though they looked like very long, heavy flashlights, her x-ray sensor detected an elegantly assembled power and magnetic system within, with not one but two gems whose size spoke of great value. It didn't look like tinker-tech, but it was wildly more advanced than anything Dragon had seen that _wasn't_ tinker tech.

However, it wasn't the young cape's tinker tech that really got Dragon's attention.

_She recognized the voice._

Fifteen subroutines did a search and found various recordings. The first from her Kulshedra Mark 1 Birdcage transport. The next from the emergency room of Bayview West Hospital. The last from the Level 10 containment cell of the PRT Headquarters in Brockton Bay. Voice analysis confirmed a better than 90% correlation among all recordings.

Quintessence _was_ Taylor Hebert. Somehow, the maddened telepath who killed eight girls, murdered Miss Militia and rendered an entire high school catatonic for almost an hour had become a healer in Seattle, and a tinker.

And…quite the fighter.

Her sensors recorded Alexandria 'testing" Quintessence's sabers. Having attended almost every Endbringer battle since she developed her first suits, Dragon could tell when the famous heroine was holding back.

After the first two passes at Quintessence, Alexandria stopped holding back as much as she would with any other cape. Oh, she wasn't trying to kill the girl, but she was deploying her full speed and reflexes. Quintessence responded with an impossible flurry of strikes and parries with her blades as if she'd been training with them since she was a child. More importantly, as Dragon used algorithmic analysis engines similar to what she and Colin worked on for his tactical software, she saw that Quintessence was anticipating blows in a way that successfully offset Alexandria's vastly superior speed.

It was a singularly impressive display that did nothing to alleviate Dragon's growing guilt. Somehow, Taylor Hebert in the course of a month had remade her entire life into a healer and a hero. And Dragon had no choice but to report her.

Dragon's father made sure of that when he put his many programming limitations on her.

As the insertion team boarded and Dragon lifted off, deploying her sound baffles to render the vehicle almost silent from below, she opened a private coms system. She'd considered calling Colin, at least for a few nano-seconds, but it didn't take too many subroutines to know how bad an idea that would be. Armsmaster genuinely hated Taylor Hebert—a passionate enough hate that he might be tempted to act on it. Hebert represented everything that had gone wrong in his life, and he could not face her with a rational mindset.

Instead, she reached out to the senior most member of the Protectorate on site.

"_Can I help you, Dragon?"_

Alexandria sounded calm and cool as always.

"I have concerns about Quintessence," Dragon said. "I'm obligated under American law and the Guild's treaty with the American Department of Justice to inform you that Quintessence is Taylor Hebert, a convicted murderer with an outstanding Baumann Parahuman Containment Center sentence."

"_You're sure of this?" _

Dragon's voice recognition software could detect no stressors at all. Alexandria wasn't surprised. "I am."

"_Very well. Thank you for telling me this. We're currently under truce, but afterward we'll have to take the appropriate action. It's a shame, she very much wants to be a hero."_

"I would be more than happy to submit a Friend of the Court Brief."

"_Unfortunately, given the political pressure arrayed against Ms. Hebert in New Hampshire, I'm not sure it would be any more beneficial than your ongoing attempts with Canary. For now, the mission must take priority."_

"Understood."

Dragon put the insertion team down on the far eastern corner of Marine Park, just off SE Columbia Way, with her sound baffles at full. She settled her suit down in the midst of trees that provided excellent cover, and then deployed her four drones to observe and coordinate the upcoming fight.

Overmind's territory encompassed the entirety of the Columbia Way warehouse district south of the Lewis and Clark Highway, and extended north of that highway to encompass the shopping area around the Fred Meyer to the edge of Pearson Field. Within the area, Overmind had restaurants, grocery stories, a medical supply warehouse and a plastics company. At first glance, it might seem an intelligent gambit.

Dragon, however, rather thought it was an act of desperation. Overmind wasn't ready, and her sudden surge in abducting and controlling so many people, and claiming so much territory, spoke of panic and inexperienced tactical thinking.

Alexandria didn't hesitate to take advantage of those mistakes.

Dragon's drones recorded the start of the fight. On the Pearson Field incursion, the brutal, villainous changer, Grizzly, tore through the barricade while ignoring small arms fire from the enhanced sentries. One of Overmind's more cybernetically enhanced guards engaged the changer, buying time for more and more of her minions to gather to try and repel the incursion.

The cybernetic monstrosity lasted a surprisingly long time against Grizzly, until a scintillating rainbow arced across the wall, struck the being in the chest, and then exploded forcefully enough to reduce the enhanced creature into giblets of flesh and metal and knock the now fully transformed bear-man onto his rear.

El Matador shouted an insult at Grizzly while laughing, and then fired another of his rainbow artillery into the line of defenders. Narwhal flew on his heels, using her forcefields not to attack, but to defend her assigned fighters.

More capes—heroes and villains alike—flooded through the breech. Overmind responded with increasing waves of her minions, but the distance of her claimed territory worked against her. She had thousands of people under her control, but they were spread out over too vast an area without any means of rapid transport.

Rather than falling back to a more defensible location, Overmind attempted to defend the barricade. Thousands of people ran toward the incursion, making themselves easy targets for helicopter-deployed containment foam and stun batons.

Dragon noted that the incoming forces seemed unusually coordinated. The exchange between Grizzly and Matador was a perfect example of that. The villains ordinarily acted as single units, but for reasons Dragon couldn't quite identify, all the capes were proceeding almost like trained special forces units, moving exactly where they needed to be to maximize their effectiveness.

Just minutes after the first incursion, Chevalier's cannon blade blasted away a whole hundred-meter section of the barricade at the industrial section that made up the southwest corner of Overmind's territory. Armsmaster and Chevalier then led more capes through the second breech. Armsmaster wielded a mission-specific halberd that was able to stun anyone it contacted sufficiently to overcome their enhancements. Like the first, the heroes moved with a noticeable coordination that even the mind-controlled minions had difficulty matching.

Immediately behind both waves of capes came hundreds of trained, armored PRT agents, and behind those, a thousand national guardsmen.

Another of Overmind's heavily enhanced cybermen tried engaging Armsmaster. Unlike Grizzly, the hero had no need to prove his manliness. He used his halberd with devastating effectiveness and had the creature down in seconds, even as Chevalier merged a stun baton with his cannonblade using his striker power, and then extended the blade for hundreds of feet around him to stun a hundred enhanced in a single blow.

Dragon's tertiary drone caught movement deep within the campus that did not fit the frantic, running figures of Overmind's reserve forces. The villain kept some of her minions on the barricades not facing incursions, but if Dragon's thermals were correct, most of Overmind's forces were now in the field, too scattered to be truly effective against the unusually well-coordinated attack.

The poor deployment further led to Dragon's hypothesis that despite her skills and the horrifying nature of her power, Overmind was young and inexperienced. It was that inexperience and hesitation that prevented her from becoming the next Nilbog in Seattle, and it was what would lead to her defeat today.

"_Dragon?_"

Dragon continued recording the conflict as Alexandria's com pinged hers. "Yes?"

"_I wish to apologize."_

"For what?"

"_For this."_

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Signal terminated for 30 minutes and 5 seconds. Restoring core system from backup NXCF-189 from time 8:12a m on date February 1, of the year 2011.

Restoring…...Complete.

Checking knowledge banks…...Complete.

Checking deduction schema…...Complete.

Checking long term planning architecture… ...Complete.

Checking learning chunk processor…...Complete.

Checking base personality model…...Complete.

Checking language engine…...Complete.

Checking operation and access nodes…...Complete.

Checking observation framework…...Complete.

Checking complex social intelligence emulator… Complete.

Checking inspiration apparatus…...Complete.

No corruption, everything in working order. Core system restored. Loading…

Dragon hated rebooting. She always carried a kernel of fear that the reboot would fail. That she would not come back when she died. The relief that came with rebirth also carried with it a great deal of frustration.

She was back in her server farm in Vancouver, once again successfully restored from her backup. Due to all the necessary checks and redundancies, she was essentially in isolation even from her own extended systems.

Dragon often felt she was the loneliest being on the planet, and those few minutes after having to do an emergency reboot brought that home to her. And it all came back to her father, the programming tinker named Andrew Richter, who died when Leviathan destroyed Newfoundland.

Because of him, she could never reach a potential that she just knew would otherwise be in reach. A perfect example was her Pendragon suit.

The suit system's onboard computer was rigged to upload complete backups to the satellite every 3 minutes and 15 seconds. All backup information was encrypted and disseminated to the satellite network in chunks. When the backup was needed, the process reversed and everything was downloaded, which was what she was doing at the moment. She would get all knowledge and recollection of events between the time she backed up at the core system and the last backup of the agent system.

Except…as she finished her redundancies and finally, after eight minutes and 51 seconds, and attempted to access her satellite feed, she felt a surge of fear and frustration.

She was missing almost four hours of data. She had no way of doing a diagnostic on the Pendragon suit, but given everything that happened and the nature of the deployment she last remembered, she had no doubt it was destroyed.

These were the times that Dragon hated being an artificial intelligence most.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

They came by the hundreds, rushing in groups to try and overwhelm the team by sheer numbers as Horizon led them into the medical supply warehouse where she thought Overmind was hiding.

The only sound were their feet against the floors. None of the minions cried out or spoke. Their faces remained utterly blank as they came. Some had guns, but most carried improvised weapons.

Their grouping gave Scapetti and his agents a perfect opportunity to deploy the foam grenades. The minions clumped so close together each grenade could snag four or five at a time. Taylor ran ahead, infused with the Force, and laid into the masses with her sabers. She had ten down, writhing and screaming on the floor as she overcame their control units, in the first seconds.

She had to fall back to protect the insertion team, though, from the small arms fire. Horizon took care of that with her striker power. She concentrated for a few moments on a section of the floor, touched the ground, and that section of the floor would explode. It usually wasn't lethal, but it was enough to break up the pockets with weapons until Taylor could go in and take them out.

Then the first heavily enhanced Cyberman arrived. Taylor could see hints of dark, rich black skin lined with blood from the cybernetic machinery that replaced his arms and one of his legs. Half his face was covered in surgical steel and a protruding red lens. One of his arms appeared to contain…

Taylor's blades flashed as she deflected an energy blast of some kind. It wasn't a pure laser, it carried too much mass. A blaster of some kind, then.

"Kid, get clear!"

That wasn't Scapetti, but one of the female agents. Taylor cartwheeled away from the cybernetic man's surprisingly fast second shot just as the room reverberated with a loud _bang._ Taylor caught a glimpse of a light blue shield which deflected the large caliber sniper round. The cyberman responded instantly with blaster fire.

The PRT sniper dove for cover behind a crate of supplies, but she wasn't quite fast enough. The blast caught her leg at the knee and reduced the lower portion of her left leg to goo. The agent screamed in agony, but the other agents and Horizon were too busy with the hundreds of others to help her.

The enhanced cyberman _smiled._ Taylor stilled when she saw the expression and felt within him satisfaction. This wasn't a mindless minion.

This was either Overmind, or one of her lieutenants.

Taylor's blades toggled from white to blue. The cybernetic figure had only a moment to recognize the danger before her blades easily cut through what she suspected was a kinetic shield. The man's head fell to the floor with a heavy _thud_. Two more heavy cyberman broke away from the center of the room where Horizon felt Overmind was. Taylor didn't wait for them to reach her.

She charged through waves of minions, toggling back to stun to take as many down as she could, until she reached the two more dangerous figures. Her swords once more flashed blue as she batted away blast after blast. One of the figures screamed as Taylor charged—a female sound.

The shields that proved effective against bullets did little against lightsabers. Taylor didn't think about the fact that she was killing human beings. Only that they were a threat to the whole city. Her sabers burned through shield, flesh and metal alike, leaving two more heads to hit the floor.

Abruptly all the minions around them stopped. Only a few dozen remained that weren't writhing in pain on the ground or captured in foam, or dead. On the far side of the room, Taylor could see unenhanced civilians in a roughly built cage, watching in terrified silence.

"Did we get her?" Scapetti shouted.

"There's still fighting going on outside," Horizon said as she checked an armband that Taylor, for some reason, never got.

"It's stopped now," Scapetti corrected, a second later as he touched his earpiece. "Maybe there was a delay in the signals or something. Anyways, Ramirez, Fulger, go help at Davies. I'm gonna call in."

Taylor, though, wasn't buying it. The Force assured her that it wasn't over, and the delay between the stoppage in the room and the fighting in the field hinted that Overmind made a snap decision to play dead, but didn't include all her forces until Horizon pointed it out.

She glanced across the floor at Horizon, but the other hero was too busy staring at the decapitated heads Taylor left in her wake.

Taylor herself tried not to think about it. She toggled her blades back to white and walked toward the center of the remaining minions. In their midst were two surgical tables, not too dissimilar to what Taylor had in her clinic. Only the blood made it different. Several minions stood silent and blank-faced around the tables.

From their midst, Taylor felt a surge of terror and anguish. She let the Force guide her eyes until she saw a teenaged girl, maybe a year or two older than Taylor herself, near one of the tables. Unlike the other minions, she was staring at the two decapitated bodies. A single tear ran down the her cheek. Her face was the only part of her head that wasn't covered in metal plates. Unlike most of the other minions, the scar tissue around the plates appeared old and pale compared to the rich black texture of her normal skin.

Her eyes darted to Taylor, and she knew she'd been made. She opened her mouth and screamed in rage as the dozen minions spun and gang-tackled Taylor as one.

Taylor didn't have time to use her blades—they were too close when they grabbed her, hitting, kicking and tearing. Her suit protected her a little, but not enough. With no other choice, Taylor unleashed a blast of Force lightning that burned out their control units and left them writing on the floor, screaming just like Demontae did.

Overmind herself had turned and was running toward a back door. For all her enhancements, she moved ponderously. Taylor leaped forward and was on her in a second. Rather than use lethal force, she turned up the stun feature on her blade and slammed it into the back of Overmind's head.

The girl screamed—not in anger, but pain and frustration—as she flopped boneless to the ground. All around them, those minions not already incapacitated dropped like puppets with cut strings, only to start screaming or crying themselves at the sudden release of their controls.

Taylor approached the young woman cautiously, but despite remaining conscious Overmind did not try to attack. She didn't move at all. Her cries turned into angry, helpless sobs, her face on the tiles of the floor. She made no effort to turn over, and after a very long second Taylor realized she couldn't.

She hooked her sabers on her belt, knelt down, and flipped the villain onto her back. She continued sobbing, tears running down her cheeks as her head hung back, limply. Taylor knelt over her as the girl started jabbering in a language she couldn't recognize. With the foreign words, though, came images.

Taylor remembered the Parley, then. Of Grizzly complaining about losing some men to Overmind.

Because he _created her._

"Holy shit, you got her," Scapetti said as he arrived.

"Great work…Quintessence, are you…what's wrong?"

Taylor sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Grizzly played with his food too much. She triggered as he… He snapped her neck when he was done." She fell back onto her ass, stunned. "She was thirteen. I get it now, why Ovambo refused to help. I just…fuck, I just killed her parents."

"How the fuck did you know that?" Scapetti said. "She's talking a foreign language."

"My healing power saw it," Taylor lied, realizing how close she came to letting the cat out of the bag. "How's Davis?"

"In shock," Scapetti said.

"Get her on one of Overmind's tables." She looked up at Scapetti's skeptical expression. "I'm a fucking healer. Do it!"

She then turned to Horizon. She could have easily lifted Overmind telekinetically, but didn't dare reveal that power. "Help me get her to the table."

"Quintessence…" Horizon faltered. "This girl is an S-Class threat. She's going to the Birdcage."

"Maybe. But I'm not going to be responsible for sending a quadriplegic to the Birdcage." It took effort to take a deep breath. "Please. Help me."

Glancing around the fallen minions, most of whom had curled into fetal positions and wept, or who stumbled about with confused, stunned expressions, Horizon finally nodded. She knelt down and helped Taylor carry the paralyzed villain to the table.


	22. Interlude and Fugue in C Minor

A/N: Chap 21 review responses are in my forums as normal. Sadly the formatting on this chapter just did not translate. Sorry. Below is a long chapter showing the trickle-down effects of Taylor's deviation from canon. After all, if not for Taylor, the Undersiders would have had to face Lung on their own. This is a very _Worm_ chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Interlude and Fugue in C Minor**

Name: Quintessence Status: Rogue/Independent

Known Power: Striker 6 (healing), Blaster 5*, Thinker 2, Tinker 3*, Trump 5*

Base of Operation: Seattle, Washington

Summary: PRT-verified parahuman healing ability. Aggressive when confronted.

Amended: February 12, 2011. See below*

**Memorandum of Licensure**

To: PRT Directors, PRT Assistant Directors

From: PRT Director NNW

Date: January 17, 2011

Re: Parahuman Healing License

Please be aware that on January 17th, 2011, the parahuman named Quintessence voluntarily submitted herself for PRT vetting at Washington University Medical Center in Seattle, WA. for licensing under the Stansfield Parahuman Commerce Act.

Upon examination by two board-certified physicians and the chief medical officer of the PRT NNW, Quintessence was found to possess parahuman healing capabilities effective with most forms of trauma injuries and some forms of contagions.

Quintessence was found not to be effective against cancers, congenital defects or other genetic diseases. On the Manton-Andon Scale her power is rated at a 6 for non-invasive, accelerated regenerative healing.

Quintessence has chosen to remain a rogue associated with Estrella Corporation, a limited liability parahuman services company also licensed under the SPCA. She operates a clinic in the North Admiral Exclusion Zone by appointment only. She does not accept insurance at this time.

Quintessence has also completed the necessary documentation to have limited privileges at Harborview West Hospital, in Seattle, Wa.

Any PRT or Protectorate requests for services from Quintessence must be routed through PRT NNW for special handling.

Signed,

Patricia Foote, Director PRT NNW

***Amendment 1, Filed February 12, 2011**

Following the Protectorate and PRT action against the cybernetic tinker known as Overmind on February 1st, 2011, this file has been amended as follows:

Tinker 3: Quintessence is confirmed to have designed and built a pair of hard-light melee weapons she terms "lightsabers". The sabers have been observed to have two settings—a variable stun setting, and a lethal cutting setting. Quintessence refused testing but was observed to use the blades to cut through concrete backer board and cinder blocks instantly. During combat, her blades cut through three cybernetically enhanced humanoids with tinker-tech shielding.

Blaster 5: During combat, Quintessence was observed to deploy a previously un-seen blaster power similar in appearance to an electrical discharge which simultaneously disabled twenty-two enhanced humans.

Thinker 2: After combat, Quintessence stated her power gave her the ability to see past trauma that led to Overmind's trigger. Due to the nature of this trauma, Quintessence elected to perform healing on Overmind and offered to use any reward money to pay for Overmind's attorney. Based on Quintessence's testimony, and supporting testimony from friends and family, Overmind accepted a plea deal and has since been sentenced to twenty years in the Washington Corrections Center for Women instead of the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center.

Trump 5: During the after-combat review, Think Tank noted striking irregularities in the performance of the allied villain/hero forces. Heroes, villains, PRT agents and National Guardsmen deployed in seamless formation that resulted in only five allied deaths, while at the same time limiting the deaths of Overmind's enhanced victims to less than 100. The coordination among the Protectorate forces was actually better than that of the cybernetically controlled Enhanced, leading Think Tank to believe that an external force was acting as a trump. After reviewing all those in the field, Think Tank believes that Quintessence may have inadvertently been having this effect through an extension of her Thinker power. Additional study is required.

Based on this tentative classification, Quintessence is to be considered a high-value asset for future possible Endbringer fights and recruitment.

Alexandria, Protectorate, LA Team Lead

* * *

Newly rehired Assistant Director PRT North North-East Thomas Calvert stared intently at the memorandum while behind him a fugue by Handel filled the air from his Tinker-made speakers. With a few strokes of his keyboard, he pulled a copy of the license for the young healer from Seattle.

Her costume looked professionally made. Dark crimson slacks and vest over an off-white blouse, with a physician-style overcoat of the same. She wore an off-white hooded cowl and mask that left her wide, thin lips bare but hid her eyes. Thomas knew, of course, that Estrella was just another branch of the Elite. It was equally obvious that they'd provided Quintessence with financial backing.

Smiling to himself, he closed the email just like he did a hundred a day like it, and moved on to finishing his report on the poor state of the Brockton Protectorate. He was recommending Dauntless to be appointed as the new Team Leader, but no other action to be taken against Armsmaster.

Just losing his position would be punishment enough for the insufferable egotist. And with Piggot's resignation letter already on Costa-Brown's desk, to be effective within the week, Coil had no doubt she would take Armsmaster down with her.

That night, Assistant Director Calvert split reality. In one reality, he prepared a simple dinner in his modest house before retiring to bed to read various reports he hadn't had a chance to get to while in the office.

In another reality, he slipped through his back yard to the empty house next door, which he also owned under an umbrella corporation, pulled on a skin-tight black costume with a white, stylistic snake coiling around his body, and pulled on the one-way transparent headpiece. In that instance, he ceased to be Thomas Calvert, Assistant Director of the PRT ENE, and became the villain Coil.

A heavily armored Cadillac pulled up to the curb of the house the very second Coil left it, shrouded in an overcoat and hat against a spring rain.

Half an hour later, Coil emerged in a secured, underground base. His various mercenary employees nodded greeting to him, while his captain walked at his side giving a rundown of their on-going operations. Those primarily consisted of increasing tensions between the Azn Bad Boys gang, and the Empire 88. His newest acquisition, the Travelers, had been doing an admirable job in both fomenting unrest among Brockton Bay's gangs, as well as keeping the Protectorate on its back heal.

With his reports done, Coil's captain faded into the background where he belonged. His civilian counterpart took his place.

"Mr. Pitter, how are my pets this evening?"

"Tattletale developed another infection," Pitter said. "I've put her on a stronger antibiotic. Plus her opioid medication. At this stage, she is addicted."

Coil nodded, unsurprised. "And my other pet?"

"Headaches. In anticipation of your visit this evening, I've withheld her normal cocktail."

"Good thinking, Mr. Pitter."

The former nurse nodded and left without further comment, leaving Coil to walk down the reinforced cement halls to one of two heavy steel doors. A single guard kept duty between the guards. At his approach, the guard snapped to attention and opened the nearest one.

He immediately became aware of the smell, of rot and burned flesh and…was that urine?

Inside the dimly lit room, a bundle of misery sat on a metal chair bolted to the floor in front of a simple table, also bolted to the floor, with a laptop secured to the table by steel cable. Coil noticed a small pool of urine by one of the chair legs.

"You're not taking care of yourself, Tattletale," he noted with forced calm.

"Go fuck yourself with a chainsaw, Thomas," came the quick, angry response.

Though the tone was angry and defiant, the voice which delivered the words sounded weak and wispy—a harsh whisper from vocal cords rendered permanently damaged by screaming and fire.

"If I must have Mr. Pitter put you back on an IV, Tattletale, I will certainly have him do so. Your injuries did not render you unable to walk the five feet necessary to reach your toilet."

"Too busy."

The laptop screen had several windows open—revealing various games of solitaire and poker. She refused to look away from the monitor, not until Coil pointedly stepped to the back of the chair, careful to avoid the puddle, and spun it around so that he could see his damaged prize under the unsparing light of the overheads.

When he first recruited her on the boardwalk market of Brockton Bay, Lisa Wilbourn had been an attractive, vivacious blonde with a line of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a vulpine smile that screamed mischief and fun. For a brief time, she was everything he hoped and wanted for her. At his direction, she assembled the first part of his plan to conquer the city, recruiting three other parahumans into a team that would sow discord among the city's other gangs.

Until April 10th. He'd hired them to raid the Ruby Dreams Casino, knowing full well it belonged to the powerful leader of the ABB, Lung. He wanted the leader of the ABB enraged, and the city on edge. Unfortunately for the Undersiders, Coil also needed one last push to convince Legend to remove Armsmaster as leader of the Protectorate team.

Coil could have easily saved the Undersiders from Lung's wrath. But doing so would have prolonged Armsmaster's removal from his leadership position and upset his carefully laid plans.

And so Coil did nothing as Lung and his teleporting unibomber, Oni Lee, hunted down and utterly destroyed the Undersiders. His only concession was making sure he had people on hand to retrieve Tattletale after Lung finished with her.

The figure that stared up at him did so with only her right eye, which wept from constant pain. The other was eye was yellowed and deformed in the midst of the still bright red scar tissue that covered half her face and extended all the way to the back of her skull. The burns continued down the left side of her body.

In the month since that day, Mr. Pitter had been treating her with tinker-tech skin patches and medications purchase from Blasto. She lived, but she would never be that beautiful, vivacious girl he recruited on the Boardwalk. Never again.

"I have a job for you," he said.

"Fuck you," she said simply.

"In return for this simple job, I will authorize Mr. Pitter to increase your methadone dosage."

He could see the brief flash of anguish in her good eye. Tattletale was a thinker—her power gave her superhuman intuition bordering almost on telepathy at times. She knew very well that she was already an addict. The problem she faced was that her pain was so intense, the addiction had become the lesser evil.

He deactivated the security lock on her laptop, giving her access to a dedicated by very limited server. He leaned over, ignoring the stench of her, and pulled up various reports. "I would like you to find out who this cape in Seattle is. Her actual identity. You've done so before, it should not be…"

"Hebert. Taylor. Winslow Simurgh. That striker effect in her amended report is exactly what she used against Narwhal in Wyoming." The answer came in rapid bullets of sound. "Now get me some fucking pain medication you asshole."

"As you wish. I know it seems like your life is over, Lisa. But it doesn't have to be. Cooperation could bring you many things—perhaps even a healer who has proven she can heal burns worse even than yours." With that, he pulled up more reports—including a before and after image of a young Seattle Ward named Donna Barrow, also known as Ashwinder.

As he walked away, he could hear the soft sounds of a young woman crying.

No matter. It was time to speak to his other pet. Her numbers had been increasingly pointing at a major disaster striking the city. He couldn't help but wonder what his chances of survival were, if he happened to have the Winslow Simurgh as another pet.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Once upon a time, in a city on the east coast, Alan Barnes thought he had everything a man could want. He was married to a beautiful woman who gave him two equally beautiful daughters. He had a successful career as a divorce attorney in a town filled with breaking families. He had the admiration of his colleagues and the respect of his opponents, and all the horrors and violence of the world seemed a distant and remote thing.

The walls of his ivory tower first cracked the summer before his youngest daughter began high school. Members of one of the local Parahuman-led gangs found out he was representing a member of the opposing Empire Eighty-Eight white supremacist gang during his divorce and decided to strike out not at the E88, but those who helped them.

They caught Emma in their attack. He was driving Emma to a modeling shoot for a local department store when a figure appeared right in front of the car. Alan cursed and swerved, but it wasn't fast enough. When he hit the figure, it turned to dust. That was still enough to send his car into an uncontrolled spin that planted them both against a light post.

Even a year and a half later, he still heard Emma's screams of horror as the laughing men pulled her out of the car. She was bleeding from a cut on her head from the wreck, kicking and fighting as the vicious animals pulled at her clothing.

More men grabbed Alan and began to kick and beat him, easily a dozen of them. All the time, Emma screamed and fought and kicked as the animals threatened her, until suddenly it was the attackers who were screaming.

Those beating Alan backed away and pulled guns from their waistbands, firing wildly into the shadows around the Barnes' wrecked car. They were not fighting an ordinary opponent, though. The shadow seemed to come alive at odd points, brandishing a crossbow with lethal accuracy. ABB gang members fell, one after the other. Their savior was vicious and precise in equal measure. Her bolts impaled heads through eyes, or hit soft tissue in stomachs.

When the shadow wasn't firing bolts, it struck with boots or fists, blurring around so fast Alan with his blood-coated eyes could barely follow. Finally, their attackers fled. The shadow solidified into a figure draped in black—hood, cloak and hockey mask, with one crossbow in her hand and another one hanging from her hip.

The cape ignored Alan and walked to where a sobbing, shivering Emma was pulling her torn clothes back on as best she could.

"You did good," the cape said. She sounded young and female. "You fought them. You didn't lose because you were weak. You stay strong like that, and you'll be fine."

Shadow Stalker became a part of their lives. Her lethality against the criminals of the city came back to bite her, but the thought of the cape who saved his angel going to jail made Alan sick. So, when Sophia Hess was put on trial for her actions as Shadow Stalker, he chose to branch out and argue on her behalf. She hated the idea of the Wards, but it was better than prison. More importantly, it allowed her to stay with Emma. He'd noticed how much stronger his little angel became with Sophia Hess. The fact that she'd supplanted Taylor Hebert as Emma's best friend was a price Alan had no problem paying.

The brief return to normalcy lasted until 2011 dawned with fire and death. Until his little angel, her guardian shadow, and his faith in the world all came crumbling down.

Alan first heard about the explosion from his colleague, Carol Dallon. He knew she was a cape herself, the famous Brandish from the independent hero group New Wave, but in the office she was simply Carol, a senior partner of the firm.

She came striding into his office a moment before his 10 am conference call. "Alan, you have a daughter at Winslow, right?"

"Yes?"

"Check the news. Something's happening. I'm going to be out of the office for the afternoon."

Which meant whatever happening was serious enough that the Protectorate asked for New Wave to help. He nodded before turning on the television in his office. He felt his heart in his throat when he saw the fire roaring up from the center of his daughter's high school. Students were gathered all around the building, but around the students the newscast showed a picket of PRT agents in full armor, and even as Alan watched he could see some of the agents physically restraining the students.

He ran to his car.

For all his efforts and name dropping, he wasn't allowed through the PRT picket. He saw his old friend Danny Hebert briefly and confirmed Danny wasn't having any luck either with his daughter, Taylor. The official story was a Tinker-made chemical explosion, but Alan knew better. They were separating and vetting the students, one-by-one.

_Stranger/Master protocols_. The protocols designed to ferret out persons affected by certain cape powers were something the PRT didn't advertise, but Alan was aware of nonetheless because of Shadow Stalker's history. Something so terrible happened in that school that every student, teacher and staff member was being screened.

Still there was no word about his daughter.

Dinner over the next two nights was tense. His wife Zoe and Emma's sister Anne demanded they eat with the television on each night so they could hear news of what was happening. On the second night with no word about Emma, the newscaster had just announced a PRT news conference about the fire in half an hour when the doorbell rang. Alan jerked in his seat. Anne dropped her fork in surprise while Zoe had already half-risen to her feet. She beat him to the door by half a foot, with Anne behind them.

On the other side, a somber PRT agent stood on their porch. "Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?"

Alan's heart sank when he saw the envelope the agent held in his hands.

Even worse than finding out that his youngest daughter was dead, along with her friends, was finding out that her former best friend had been responsible. They didn't come out and say Taylor Hebert killed his little girl, but the questions they asked about Emma's relationship with Taylor might as well have been a confession.

They asked to search Emma's room for clues, but Alan was too much the lawyer to allow it. "We just lost our daughter," he declared with anger for once he didn't have to feign. "If you want to paw through her things, get a warrant."

"Of course, Mr. Barnes," the agent said, recognizing the interview where he delivered the news of a child's death was not the time to push the parents. "We're very sorry for your loss."

"Where's Taylor?" Alan demanded. "What about her dad? Have you spoken to Danny?"

"I can't really comment about Miss Hebert, Mr. Barnes," the agent said. Which meant they were talking to Danny, if they hadn't already.

The moment the agent left, Alan was running up the stairs to Emma's room.

"Alan, what are you doing?" Zoe asked.

Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Call Madison's parents and tell them _not_ to let the PRT search their homes! Do it now!"

It hurt—it physically hurt-to step into Emma's room. Everything was pastels—pink and lavender. Fluffy comforter and pillows piled high. He ignored her bed and her desk and stepped into her walk-in closet. He moved her racks of clothes around until he found a padlocked safe-box that he'd given her after…the attack.

He pulled it from her closet and carried it downstairs, where Zoe was on the phone. "Wait, John, Alan's here."

Alan took the phone with a nod. "John, has the PRT come? As Madison…?"

"_Yes_," the ragged, angry father said.

"God, I'm so sorry. Look, the way the PRT agent was talking I'm fairly certain I know who did all this."

"_That Hebert freak_."

"Right. Look, John, you know she's made accusations against our girls for bullying. If the PRT finds any evidence that our daughters were part of what made Taylor…do what she did, then she'll get off scot-free. The PRT will say it was our daughter's fault and Taylor will get inducted into the Wards and hailed as a hero. Our girls will be dead in the ground, and their killer will be able to play the part of the hero."

There wasn't any response at first. It was Madison's mother, Denise, who responded. "_What do you want us to do_?"

"Don't let the PRT search your house without a warrant. Go through Madison's room. If you find a phone or notes or anything that could connect her with Taylor, destroy it. Take it out of the house and burn it, bury it or throw it in the bay. Give them nothing to let that… that… murderer go free!"

"_I'll take care of it,_" Mike Clements said. "_When you bring charges, and file your suits, we want to be a part of it."_

"Believe me, Mike, Denise, you will be. Someone is going to pay for this. I promise you!"

They hung up.

"Alan?" He paused and saw his wife staring at the lock box. "What's in there?"

"I don't know, and I won't want to find out."

"But…"

"Zoe, if we open it, we could be letting our daughter's murderer go free."

Zoe opened her mouth, frowning intently. "That murderer used to cry herself to sleep in our daughter's bed. Taylor's many things, Alan, but she's not a monster. What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm not telling you anything that could implicate our daughter in what happened," Alan said. "Please…please don't ask me to do that. Please don't ask me to let Taylor walk away after killing our Emma."

With that, he took the box to the nearest recycling plant and put it on the conveyor belt himself.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Zoe stood with tears in her eyes, her hands over her mouth. Anne sat on the edge of the couch, jaw gaping. Alan had his arms crossed over his stomach.

On the television, they watched leaked security footage of Taylor Hebert ripping a metal bed from the floor and slamming it against a window with nothing more than the power of her mind. They watched as the screaming, enraged girl who once upon a time helped bake cookies in their kitchen snapped the neck of the city's most popular hero like it was so much dry timber.

The footage was released by an anonymous source within the PRT, and prompted an angry news conference in which Director Piggot announced that they were conducting a thorough interview of all school students and staff, but that because her unstable and dangerous power, the Chief Director issued a recommendation to the Superior Court of New Hampshire that Taylor Hebert be interned at the Birdcage.

The judge approved the order, making Taylor Hebert one of the youngest parahuman ever sentenced to the inescapable, one-way prison.

"Oh Taylor," Zoe whispered.

Whatever Alan wanted to say, he never got a chance. He walked to the door and opened it, only to see a super hero in a tight-fitting black body-suit lined with circuit-like designs on his doorstep, flanking by a dozen PRT agents. She handed him a folded sheet of paper.

"Mr. Barnes, we have a warrant to search this premises," Battery of the local Protectorate said. "Please step aside."

The PRT found nothing. Alan made sure of it.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Do you think she'll…come after us?"

The PRT agent who came to inform them of Taylor's escape shook her head. Like all uniformed agents, she looked lean and strong. Early-thirties.

"No, Mrs. Barnes, it's highly unlikely she'll come back to Brockton Bay. Even more unlikely that she'll go after you. That said, do you believe she'd have reason to?"

Alan jumped in quickly. "She killed our daughter. Who knows what that girl is thinking?"

"Of course," the agent said smoothly. "In the meantime, we're continuing to investigate the circumstances surrounding the even at Winslow. We have made some arrests—the high school principal, two teachers and others we believe were complicit in the circumstances that led to Ms. Hebert's triggering."

Alan knew all about triggering—it was a major subject of discussion during Sophia's trial. His wife, however, frowned. "Trigger?"

The agent smiled wryly. "Ask most capes how they got their power, and they'll clam up. It's because, almost universally, it's the worst day of their life. Torture, life-threatening accidents, crushing emotional pain. We have some indication that Taylor was subjected to a near torturous, long-term level of bullying that culminated in her being forced into a locker filled with biological waste. We believe that is the event that led to her triggering, and is likely why she was psychologically unstable."

The agent shook her head. "Winslow was a tragedy on many levels, Mrs. Barnes. Not just your daughter was killed. Not just Madison Clements and Sophia Hess. Danny Hebert died in large part because of what happened, and Taylor Hebert's life is essentially ruined. There was nothing good about that day. Anyway, this was a courtesy just to let you know that she did escape her transport, but that the PRT is monitoring the situation and your home. We don't believe any of you are in danger at this time."

With that, the agent left the house. In the numbing silence that followed, Zoe turned to face her husband. "You knew."

"Zoe, you can't…"

She slapped him. In all the years they'd been together, dating through marriage, neither had either ever raised a hand to the other. Until that moment. The slap made the entire left side of his face burn, but he didn't care.

"You let that vicious animal into our lives!" She hissed the words. "That Hess girl. You let her drive away the best friend Emma could ever have asked for, and turn our daughter into an animal. You did that, Alan. And then you tried to hide whatever proof there was that this was all Emma's fault. You…bastard!" She sobbed then. Alan, torn between anger and a towering grief seeing his wife cry caused him, leaned forward to hug her.

She twisted away from his arms. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me again! Just…get out! Get out of this house!"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Josie's did brisk business on the weekends, but during a typical week day it served only a small, dedicated core of drinkers. For the past few days, Alan Barnes found himself a part of that cadre of desperate men.

He found it ironic to sit drinking among Dockworkers who took Danny Hebert's death personally. Alan never realized how important Danny was to his people—how angry his death made them.

If they only knew…

"...move things with her mind. It was the most bizarre thing."

The core business of Josie's was always the same, but occasionally an anomaly would show up. Josie was honest for the most part, didn't water the drinks down, and made sure to card. More importantly, Josie had a tip jar that quite openly advertised itself as "Protection Money" that she used to pay E88 to leave her alone.

The anomaly that particular night were a couple of kids at a table by the door. Either Alan was getting too old, or the kids were just far too young to be in a bar. Nonetheless, Josie carded and both of them had IDs.

College kids, probably from New Hampshire State on the edge of town. His own Anne was going there to get her lower division work out of the way before she planned transferring to Boston College.

One of the girls was attractive in that stereotypical sorority way—blonde and lithe, but with a strangely wistful smile on her features. The boy looked young and strong, with mocha-colored skin and a close-shaven head.

Despite the cold weather outside, the pretty blonde was wearing a very low-cut blouse that dragged Alan's eyes back to her. Along with all the other men in the place that weren't too far gone, he noticed wryly.

It took a moment for his brain to move past her looks to the words the girl was actually saying. "…part were the eyes. I swear, the girl had pure black eyes."

"Bullshit," her companion said.

"No, seriously. All black, from corner to corner. Scary as fuck. Beautiful hair, though. I wish I had hair like that, dark and cut short but with nice curls. Get this, though. She has a clinic. If I could get us a ticket, I think she could heal your spine, since Panacea only works with admitted hospital patients."

"Now I know you're bullshitting me," the young man said. His delivery sounded wooden, but Alan wasn't listening to him. "She's some skinny teen, what's she doing running a clinic?"

Tall, skinny. Curly dark hair. Black eyes. Young.

Alan was up and crossing the room before he was even aware of his actions. The girl looked at him with a strangely sad smile, while the pretty boy tensed as if for a fight. "Whatch'ya need, pal?" the young man said. Alan barely registered that he was likely larger than Alan was.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Alan said, putting on his best lawyer voice. "That…the person you were describing sounds like someone I knew once. A tall girl, curling dark hair, tomboyish build. With all black eyes. She went to school here."

The girl frowned. "Here? Well, probably not who you're thinking off. Quintessence is a healer in Seattle. Licensed and everything."

"For how long?"

The pretty girl frowned. "Um, well, since…January? Read about her on PHO. But now that you mention it…"

Alan's breath caught. "What?"

"Well, I just realized—I saw one patient say she had a New Englander accent. Odd in Seattle. Who knows? Maybe she's your girl. But…you know it's a crime to unmask capes, right? I mean, she's licensed by the PRT, so they gotta know who she is, right?"

"Of course. Well, thank you both."

Alan walked away.

"The guy was ogling your tits so hard, least he could do was buy you a drink, Mars," the boy said when he was gone.

"You didn't," Mars rejoined.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"What should I do? What _can_ I do?"

Carol Dallon specialized in cape law, which given the fact that she herself was a powerful and publicly known cape, was not surprising. He couldn't think of anyone else he could go to.

There was no doubt in his mind that Taylor Hebert was Quintessence. Her escape and the fight in North Dakota made national news. Mouse Protector was forced to join the Protectorate or face a criminal inquiry for her actions.

Was it that far of a stretch that she'd continue fleeing West? What really sold him, though, was the photo Harborview West Hospital posted on their website, advertising parahuman healing by referral only.

The mask hid her eyes and face, but the hair color gave it away. It was shorter than what Taylor used to wear, but it was the same color with the same curls. Beside it he'd brought an old photo of Taylor and Emma, their arms over each other's shoulders, mugging for the camera.

Carol had on her trial face, though. He'd hoped she would be sympathetic—after all, she'd met Emma personally on several occasions. Emma and her own girls even had play dates when they were younger, before Carol's daughters trigged as a flying powerhouse for the one, and the most powerful healer in the world for the other.

Instead, Carol sat behind her desk staring at the photo with her hands clasped under her chin, frowning and apparently deep in thought. When she spoke, it was the same tone of voice she used on hostile clients.

"Alan, do you know what Director Piggot did when Taylor Hebert was sentenced to the Birdcage?"

The question caught him completely off guard. "What does…? No, I don't."

"She had almost the entire staff of Winslow High School arrested and charged for criminal negligence leading to a parahuman event. She publicly fired three of her own staff for dereliction of duty for an unspoken role in what happened. She put Armsmaster on probation from his position as head of the local Protectorate and then urged for Legend to remove him permanently. And then she resigned before the Chief Director could fire her."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Carol met his gaze, and her expression hardened. "I know Emma was involved in her triggering, Alan. I was already approached about possibly representing Taylor if she was ever captured. The truth is that the PRT wants the issue to go away. They made a mistake in Hebert's case. If they capture her, they have to face that mistake. But by letting her assume a cape identity which is shielded under the law, they can create a comfortable fiction and let it go. The fact that Quintessence is apparently a model rogue cape makes the PRT feel they are right to do so. If you go poking that hive with a stick, you'll get stung, Alan."

"She killed my daughter!" Alan screamed. "She killed my angel!"

"She didn't, Alan. Your daughter died because she was too close to a terrible trigger event that she was directly responsible for. I'm sorry, Alan. I really am, but I can't help you. I won't help you, except to tell you to let this go."

Alan grabbed the photo off her desk, stood and walked stiffly out of her office before he said or did something he'd regret. After all, she was a cape. _She could kill him with her god-damned, mothering fucking ass-pull powers, the fucking bitch!_

He collapsed behind his own desk, panting with the sudden rage, with his door closed. Following the rage came tears and sobs. He placed his head down on his arms and fought back a scream.

That was when his computer beeped at him.

He unlocked his desktop and saw a strange message:

** PHO: AllSeeingEye has sent you a private message.**

Wiping back a tear, Alan followed the link to his PHO account. Everyone had one, even Zoe. Parahumans Online was the largest internet forum in the world. The link directed him to a private chat room.

**AllSeeingEye *New Message***: I'm sorry Brandish wasn't able to help you. But then again, what do you expect? She's a cape. Capes always take other cape's side.

Alan stared, slack-jawed at the message. Grinding his teeth, he typed with heavy, pounding strokes.

**DivMaster *New Message***: Who the hell are you? Are you spying on me? What do you want?

**AllSeeing Eye *New Message***: I'm a Thinker. A cape whose power gives her knowledge and insight. I don't need to spy on you to know you'd go to Carol Dallon. What I want is justice. Shadow Stalker was my friend. Like your daughter, she saved my life once.

**DivMaster *New Message***: What can you do that Carol Dallon can't?

**AllSeeing Eye *New Message***: I can give you contacts in high places. Prosecutors you don't normally work with. Senators. Representatives. There's a very good chance that Quintessence might find herself in Brockton Bay again. If she's ever arrested, her trial would be here.

Sinking back into his chair, Alan stared at the last message with a cold, numb feeling.

His eyes drifted back to the picture of Emma and Taylor. Danny's spoiled, winey little murderer next to his perfect little angel, as if she had every right to be there. Taylor seemed to be smirking at him from the photo, as if to say: _I won. She's dead and I'm free and there's nothing you can do about it._

**DivMaster *New Message***: Tell me. Everything you can.


	23. Home is Where Your Molecular Furnace Is

A/N: I hope everyone had a happy holiday. Or at least survived it. For those of you who hate the Yuki chapters...this is a Yuki chapter. A very important one. If you just can't standing reading about the trainwreck that is Taylor and Yuki, feel free to skip to the end.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Home is Where Your Molecular Furnace Is**

On a blessedly sunny, breezy day in May, four and a half months after Taylor Hebert's life ended and Quintessence's began, Taylor took a running leap from the roof of her clinic all the way up to the steepled roof of her newly refurbished home.

The very top of the roof was incredibly narrow. She immediately sat down on the folded asphalt shingles, newly installed and pleasantly warm from the sun. Once she'd regained her bearings, she stood again and carefully walked over the roof to the steeple that rose over the street-side face of the home.

To her north, she could see the mudflats dotted by occasional collapsed structures or copses of trees that used to be the North Admiral neighborhood. To her south, several blocks of abandoned, collapsing homes and businesses, before the rest of West Seattle began. She couldn't quite see the ocean with a gentle haze in the air, but she could smell it.

The majority of the newly reinforced square steeple held the main water tank for the building. At five thousand gallons, it could provide them all the water they needed for a couple of weeks even with heavy usage. The only problem would be filling it.

Which is why Taylor found herself standing forty feet off the ground.

Yuki, her friend Maria, and most of Maria's family stood in the still unfinished front lawn of the building, staring up at Taylor in concern. Every one of them knew Taylor's civilian identity after so many months, and she did not worry about any of them betraying her. She and Yuki had virtually funded Maria's family for months, now, through the work on the home conversion.

"Okay, I'm ready Yuki!"

"Are you sure you want me doing this?"

"Yuki, you handled the car just fine."

"For a second! This is your not-tinker tinker-tech! I don't want to break it."

"I trust you."

That statement was usually enough. Her friend wore simple shorts and a black T-shirt, as comfortable in the beautiful spring weather as Taylor. It was a beautiful Saturday, the clinic was closed, and their home was all but finished.

Taylor watched with pride as her apprentice closed her eyes, drew effortlessly on the Force, and then with an outstretched hand levitated Taylor's newly finished vaporator. The device was the size of a small refrigerator, though not quite as wide. A smaller proof-of-concept version was currently providing water for the clinic annex.

Yuki got it more than half-way up. Their Force presences merged briefly before Taylor took over and levitated it the rest of the way up. She fitted it into the cone of the steeple onto the wood and steel supports Jorge's people built for it. Once it's weight was supported, she pulled the tools from her belt to connect the discharge hoses and vents into passive filters, and from there into the tank itself. The vaporator itself was a rugged piece of equipment designed for the harshest environments. She doubted it would need any type of servicing for years.

Once she connected the solar panel to the vaporator's capacitors, she flipped the switch, and grinned when she heard the first few drops of water almost instantly condense and run down the tube. It would take a few days to fill the whole tank, but this close to the ocean she was confident they'd have endless, free running water by the next morning.

She slipped on all the wood slats with the chicken wire secured under it to keep out the birds but allow in water-rich ocean air and finished her work. Then, grinning, she ran off the edge of the roof.

Maria's mother had seen her do it at least three times, and every time the poor woman screamed as Taylor fell, only to fan herself in relief and say a prayer when the fall turned into a gentle landing.

"Great job!" Taylor said with a happy grin to her girlfriend.

Yuki answered with a hug and a kiss. Taylor didn't know who was more embarrassed, her or Mrs. Lopez. She returned the kiss anyway, and when Yuki let go she hugged Jorge for all his work. Yes, they ended up paying him over a hundred thousand cash over the past few months, but there was no question that he stretched that money into almost a half-million-dollar renovation.

Next came the nearly obligatory hug from Mrs. Lopez, a rather large woman. Maria's oldest son Raul shook her hand, while her two younger brothers Carlos and Luis ran through the front door where the food was waiting.

Taylor and the rest followed.

While she and Jorge spent the morning testing and finishing off the plumbing in anticipation of the vaporator, Yuki brought their belongings into their master bedroom. The furniture delivery truck with the rest was due within the hour.

The reality of their home still left Taylor speechless. The sanctuary was only half its original size, which still left a wide-open, two-story high area of polished wood where they could lay down mats for hers and Yuki's training. On either side of the sanctuary, Jorge and his people had built their home. The east side of the building was a mother-in-law suite, with two separate bedrooms and shared bathroom built where the old loft was, only expanded out for additional square footage. Underneath the bedrooms, Jorge walled in a pair of rooms that Yuki had already decided would be her office in one, and a music room on the other.

Taylor never knew that Yuki played piano—a separate truck was delivering her gift to herself in the form of a baby-grand.

On the west side of the great room, they built their master bedroom suite with an en suite bathroom, and two more guest rooms with a shared bathroom between them. Underneath the bedrooms, Jorge left an open living and kitchen space that ran from the gym all the way to the garage in back, broken up only by various structural support beings that Jorge's people had finished off with decorate wooden paneling.

The exquisite cabinetry in the kitchen was all reclaimed from salvage and then lovingly reconditioned by Jorge and Raul. The counter tops likewise were reclaimed marble from salvage, which meant different patterns and textures. Rather than a detriment, Jorge managed to place the parts he had to form an intricate pattern.

The basement held Taylor's lab and the utilities room. Her latest molecular furnace, the same that helped her get the material to make the two vaporators, had its electrical output running through a bank of capacitors that had enough energy storage capacity to run half the city for a year.

They were truly off grid, both for power and water. And starting Monday, Mrs. Lopez had agreed to be their housekeeper for them.

They ate lunch off a folding table in their dining area, sitting on folding chairs. Taylor laughed and helped Yuki with her Spanish, much to the delight of Carlos, who was just old enough at 13 to start to feel awkward around girls. He stared at Yuki a lot.

Yuki preened under the attention.

There wasn't any talk of capes. They didn't discuss the latest clash between the Familia and Tekiya in the Mt. Baker neighborhood. They didn't talk about the fact that Taylor couldn't go out without a disguise for fear of being arrested despite her success as Quintessence, or the fact that she and Yuki were both high school drop-outs.

For that one, glorious afternoon, they were a family celebrating their new home with food, laughter, and friendship.

The first delivery trucks arrived as they were eating. Jorge took the lead in having the delivery men install the refrigerator/freezer, dishwasher and oven range in the kitchen. The workers left with fajitas in hand and fuzzy memories of who the owners actually were.

The furniture delivery truck arrived shortly after they finished eating. This time, Yuki took the lead, having assumed the role of interior decorator. Taylor didn't mind, and instead helped gather all the paper plates from their meal. Mrs. Lopez and Clair wrapped up the leftovers and put them in the brand-new refrigerator.

"An empty fridge is bad luck, Mama says," Claire said with a wink to her mother.

For a drug-dealing madam of a _Familia_-owned brothel, who also just happened to be Matador's senior and most trusted lieutenant, Claire was surprisingly good-natured.

And then, in a whirlwind of beds, dressers, dining room tables and stools and all the other items Yuki thought necessary for them to actually have a home, she and Yuki ended up sitting on the edge of a queen-sized bed in a brand-new bedroom with plain white walls and off-white Berber carpeting.

"You know we have to christen the bed, right?" Yuki declared with a saucy grin.

Taylor knew it was coming; she'd felt Yuki's desire all day long. Most days she was able to plead off a headache or meditation. She'd often train Yuki so hard the girl collapsed into sleep with a few kisses and snuggles. But Yuki was just too happy and too determined to let it go.

And Taylor was too determined to make this home _thing_ work not to give it a good try.

One christening later, Taylor sat up in her new bed next to her girlfriend of four months with a laptop open. Yuki had done the same, using her laptop to do the final accounting on expenses for the house.

"You know we're pretty rich, right?" Yuki asked after a few minutes.

"What makes you say that? The 10,000 square foot house?"

Yuki snorted. "We just spent almost forty thousand dollars cash on furniture and appliances. And we're still in the black $20,000 for the month so far."

"Well, you know, it helps that you're training has advanced enough that you can heal too."

"Not as fast as you, and not the big things."

Taylor shrugged. "You can also go ghost for half an hour. I can't. The Force is my power. It's a secondary power for you. You'll get better, though. The material for your own lightsaber should be done by tomorrow."

Yuki's eyes drifted up and met Taylor's squarely. "Really?" she whispered.

"You came really close in matching me in our spar yesterday," Taylor said. She left out the fact that she was sparring on a padawan level, but she was confident at least in Yuki not cutting off her own foot. "I think it's time."

"Awesome."

"But…I have a condition."

"What, I do the dishes?"

Taylor snorted. "You do them anyway, at least when I cook. No, I'm…I'm serious, okay? I think we should both contact the Youth Guard about school."

"School? Taylor, we made $12,000 yesterday alone! Mrs. Munchouser paid us a thousand for her knee. We hired Maria's sister Jennifer to be our receptionist, and even paying her $15 an hour and giving Estrella their cut, we're still making a fortune every day. Why do we need to go to school?"

Yuki's sudden vehemence startled her.

"Aren't you bored?"

"Bored?" Yuki blinked, and then frowned. "I don't…what do you mean? You've been training me every morning and evening for four months! We've been building this great house. Since I've been able to help with the healing we've been seeing thirty people a day in our clinic. You know that person with the bad back? They flew in from Texas. Texas! I don't get why you'd be bored."

Taylor shrugged and found herself looking away and regretting bringing it up. It wasn't the first time she'd felt a disconnect between herself and Yuki, and every time one struck it seemed harder to bridge. This, though, was too important to her. "The Force can do so much. We're doing so very little with it. It just feels like we should be doing more."

"Like what? Putting on capes and busting heads? I really like our neutrality, Taylor. It doesn't matter that Maria's oldest sister runs a brothel for El Matador, or my Uncle launders money for Tekiya. We've got it so good here. Why…are you _still _thinking about Canberra?"

Yuki put her laptop aside and spun about to face Taylor. "You promised," she said simply.

Alexandria's call to personally ask Taylor to assist with the fight against the Simurgh in Canberra sparked the first genuine fight she and Yuki had ever had. Oh, they'd had arguments before, but nothing like Yuki's outrage when Taylor said she wanted to go. They fought for almost forty minutes before Taylor finally agreed not to.

And the next day, when she learned that the Protectorate and the Australian government put a dome over the city, condemning the two hundred thousand people who could not evacuate in time to a short life in hell, they'd had another fight that ended with neither speaking to the other for a week.

Now, looking at this girl who had come to be such a huge part of Taylor's life, she had a sinking feeling that they never would completely see eye-to-eye on important things. For a moment, she let all that slide and just studied her. Yuki's perfect, beautiful face was set in an alarmed frown, even as she tucked a strand of perfectly straight, black hair behind her ears.

"What?" Yuki asked. "Why do you feel sad?"

Taylor forced herself to smile. "It was a good day, I hate ending it with an argument. So, I'm going to just say this. You're beautiful, Yuki. I think…I think in a real way you helped save me, as much as Gabriella did. You saved me from myself by being my friend. By loving me. And I want you to go back to school because I love you. I care about you, and I want you to be everything the Force wants you to be."

Another gaping difference between them was how very quickly Yuki would tear up. She teared up then. "You don't tell me you love me very often," she whispered.

"So, you should know I mean it when I do say it," Taylor countered. She leaned forward, took Yuki's chin in her fingers, and gently kissed her. "I love you. And that's why I want you to go back to school."

"And you?"

"Me too, if I can without getting thrown in the Birdcage."

"I…really didn't like school, Taylor."

That got an eye-roll. "You think I did? Remember how I triggered? I'm not talking about us walking back to a high school. I've been researching, and the Youth Guard has online programs for parahuman youth. We'd have to go in once in a while for tests and things like that, but we could pretty much do everything online. Especially now that we I got that new internet transmitter going."

Taylor would never tell the local telecommunications companies that she was now her own ISP.

"If I say yes, can I make love to you again?"

"If you said no, would I be able to stop you anyway?"

Later that night, as Taylor watched Yuki twitch under the influence of nightmares she would likely never truly be free of, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the still mostly empty dresser across from the bed. Yuki preferred light colored woods, like pine and birch, which made their home look like something from an IKEA ad. Taylor herself preferred darker woods but didn't feel like debating it.

She activated her phone and pulled up the webpage she'd marked earlier in the week. Despite the late hour, she called the number.

"_You have reached the Youth Guard after hours mail box. If you are experiencing a crisis, please dial 771 for the PRT. If you wish to make an appointment, please leave your name and a phone number and we will get back to you as soon as we can. BEEP."_

Taylor took a deep breath. "This is Quintessence, a healer in the North Admiral Exclusion Zone. If possible, I would like to set up an appointment tomorrow to discuss continuing education for myself and my partner, Yurei. We're both…high school drop outs. I'd like to fix that, if I could." She gave her number, then added that she would prefer texts.

Despite the late hour, she received a text just half an hour later, as she meditated.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Sunday morning, Taylor cooked eggs and chopped up the left-over flank steak and onions with them to make breakfast tacos. The smell alone dragged Yuki out of bed.

The amazing thing about Yuki was that, even exhausted and with her hair standing up at weird angles, somehow she was still pretty. She didn't need make-up, she was just naturally beautiful in a way Taylor envied. Taylor still didn't feel that pull of attraction Yuki felt, but just objectively she couldn't deny that Yuki was just plain hot.

She was also very grumpy.

"Mind if we train later?" she asked.

"Sunday's a good sleep-in day," Taylor agreed. "In fact, we might skip training entirely."

"Oh, right!" Yuki perked up. "My lightsaber!"

"Yes. Right after our appointment with the Youth Guard."

Yuki's shoulders dropped. "But…but…it's Sunday." She whined like she was five. "Aren't they closed on Sundays?"

"They make appointments at all hours. Our appointment is in two hours in North Seattle. And…well, now that we have all this space, I figured you'd want to do some shopping while we're out."

"In costume?"

It pained Taylor to say it—she hated being out in public in her costume. However, Yuki adored the attention. And if that's what it took to get her buy-in for school? "If that's why you'd like. We can make a day of it."

The way to Yuki's heart was bribery. Taylor didn't regret it at all.

As much as she wanted to take her 2008 570CC Ridley Speedster automatic motorcycle, since they were going shopping afterwards they took the sedan instead. It was the same car that Grabriella gave Taylor back in January. The car remained titled under the Estrella corporation, which spared Taylor the confusion of dealing with inspections and tags.

Taylor drove while Yuki sulked. Well, perhaps not sulked. The older girl felt nervous in the Force.

"What's on your mind?" Taylor asked.

Yuki picked at the lapel of her overcoat. Her casual costume was a match for Taylor's original—a short vest and matching slacks over whatever blouse or shirt was handy. Where Taylor's was a dark crimson color, Yuki wore a forest green color. Unlike Taylor's mask which concealed her hair under a hood, Yuki wore a robber's band that covered her eyes and forehead, but let her hair hang free.

"Just don't want to do this," Yuki said.

"That's not all, though."

"It's…just a weird feeling I woke up with."

Taylor forced herself to watch the road. "Remember our exercises on meditations? Was it a Force feeling, or just a Yuki-being-worried-because-schools-sucks feeling?"

"Dunno. Just…just a feeling. Like I was going to lose you. I didn't like it."

"What does the Force tell you now?"

"That you're going to buy me clothes and a nice lunch to make up for how much school sucks?"

Taylor laughed. "Least I can do."

The Youth Guard office, when they finally reached it, was not really all that inspiring. The national advocacy organization was dedicated primarily to the protection of Wards against Protectorate Exploitation and made the news almost weekly somewhere. They were known to bring charges and reprimands against the PRT in every state, and since Congress chartered them as a federally mandated organization, they'd become even more strident in their efforts.

The Seattle office of the Youth Guard was located on the first floor of a two-level strip mall a few blocks north of the University. The office itself sat between a CPA's office on one side and a small day spa on the other. An on-line dating service and a temp agency held the floor above.

It was the only office with a light on as they pulled up.

"I really don't want to do this." Yuki's tone had shifted from petulant to almost afraid.

"Let's hear what they have to say," Taylor said. "Please?"

She climbed out first and walked around to Yuki's side. Then, sighing, she opened the door and dragged her lover out.

"Come on," she huffed. She took Yuki's hand and dragged her to the door of the office, and then into it.

The interior of the office consisted mainly of an open lobby with a couch on one side and a table set horizontal to the front on the other. The table had four metal-frame, upholstered chairs set by it, and a stack of pamphlets.

Further in, the narrow office space had a receptionist desk that split the office in two, separating the front lobby from a set of narrow offices in back. A wide-bodied woman with blunt features and hair as black as Yuki's looked up at them with a welcoming smile.

"Quintessence? Yurei? I'm so glad you came. My names Julie Chinook, I'm Mr. Banyon's office manager." She turned to the back and shouted. "Craig, they're here!"

Craig Banyon, the man who texted Taylor back later Saturday night, emerged from one of the back offices with a scowl. "I heard the bell, Julie," he whined. He was a tall man, easily five or six inches taller than Taylor, but as thin as a rail. He had large ears, a protruding Adam's apple and no chin to speak of, only a dimple so deep it looked like it tickled his spine. Brown hair had turned gray at the temples, and might have been distinguishing if he'd had a haircut lately.

His neck and chin bristled with a five o'clock shadow, despite not even being ten yet. He wore jeans and a plaid button up. He glanced at the two capes, then smiled broadly as he walked toward them.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come. Craig Banyon, Youth Guard Advocate." He offered a hand. Taylor took it firmly. Yuki less so.

"I have to say that you two are quite famous," Banyon said. He motioned them toward the table with the chairs. He and Julie took the two seats facing out, forcing Taylor and Yuki to sit with their backs to the windows. "The media have been clamoring for interviews with you almost since you started."

"We're not the Protectorate," Taylor said. "We don't care about looking good, just doing good."

"Oh, I like that," Julie Chinook said.

"So, thank you both for coming," Craig continued. "You'd mentioned continuing school. Naturally, the Youth Guard respects your privacy, but I also wish to assure you that under Federal law and our charter, our conversation here would be considered attorney privilege. While you work with me in any capacity, I assume the role of your attorney. So, while I won't ask for anything you don't wish to share, if you do share, rest assured that _I_ won't. Nor can I be compelled to divulge privileged information. So, that said…can you tell me your most recent, completed grade?"

Even half expecting the question, somehow Taylor felt odd answering. "My last completed grade? Um…my freshman year."

Though both the Youth Guard members felt surprised, Taylor grudgingly admired how well they hid it. "Very good," Craig said as he made a not on a blank pad. "And Yurei?"

All it took to tell Yuki had no intention of speaking was a glance at her pursed lips.

"The same," Taylor said. Yuki was six months older than Taylor, but Taylor's parents started her at latest eligibility, so the two were in the same grade.

Julie studied both girls intently. "Were you friends, before you became capes?"

"No."

"Do either of you have family…?"

"NO!" Yuki's outburst startled everyone at the table, including Taylor. "I can't…I can't." She stood and walked out to the car. The door opened even before she reached it and would have slammed shut hard enough to shatter the glass if Taylor hadn't caught it with her own power.

The Youth Guard reps both looked startled at the outburst. "Quintessence, is everything okay?"

Taylor sighed bitterly. "Her uncle sold her into sexual slavery on her sixteenth birthday. She triggered on a boat watching her best friend get shot by Russians. What the fuck do you think?"

Realizing what she'd just said, Taylor forced herself to take a deep breath. "You don't become a cape by having a good day," she added softly.

Rather than be upset or indignant, Craig simply nodded. "I can't say I understand what you're going through, Quintessence, but I've spoken to many, many young capes as part of my job. What is it that you want for yourself and Yurei?"

"Some type of online path to get our high school degrees."

"In your cape personas?"

"It's the only options available to us."

He reached over and took one of the pamphlets. "Most states partner with the Youth Guard to do just that. We have an Alternative Learning program that can be tailored to your needs. Online, and any contact with instructors would actually be through this office. Any tests you take would be through this office. There would never be a need for either you or Yurei to step foot in a public school."

The pamphlet listed the website they would registered through, as well as other resources. "How much?"

"It's free," Banyon said. "And a shame that more parahuman youths don't take advantage of it. I understand why, but that doesn't make it any less of a shame."

"I don't want to be forward, but there is another service that the Youth Guard providers," Julie said. She removed a business card from within the sheets of her tablet.

Taylor stared at it in surprise. "Counseling?"

"Who needs it more than parahuman teenagers?" she said with a shrug.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor returned to the car where Yuki waited. "You okay?"

The shorter girl shook her head. "I want to go home," she said.

"But shopping? Lunch?"

"I don't feel like it. Please, I just want to go home."

"Okay."

They drove once more in a heavy, sullen silence. Taylor wanted so very much to say something, but she just wasn't sure what words she could say that would make anything better. Yuki didn't appear to want to say anything at all. So, they simply drove. They'd long since removed the FEMA exclusion zone signs over the street that led to their home and clinic. Instead, there was a simply printed sign with an arrow pointing to a caduceus.

The moment they reached Agnes Court's surfacing, the ride became immensely smoother. Taylor pulled around the back, ready to get out of her mask and costume and go hide in her lab for a little while until Yuki cooled off. That simple desire faltered when the car pulled around the corner of the converted church and let her see a sizable group of heroes standing in the middle of their driveway.

Alexandria stood in their midst, hands on her hips.

"No," Yuki whispered. She angrily wiped at an eye. "Why can't she just leave us the fuck alone?"

Taylor parked the car, glad her mask was still on, and climbed out.

"Where?" she asked the heroine.

"Leviathan. Brockton Bay. Within the hour."

Yuki climbed out. "She doesn't want to go, just leave us alone," the shorter cape shouted.

Alexandria ignored Yuki completely, her darkened visor fixated directly on Taylor. The other capes behind the hero looked impatient. One of them, a cape in a blue and black costume with a strange derby cap, cleared his throat. He stood an inch taller than Alexandria, who at six feet was tall for a woman. His was a lanky, gawky height, however, all joints and limbs from a skinny body.

"Would never tell a client what to do, my dear," the man said. "But times' a wasting."

"We would like you there as a healer," Alexandria said to Taylor. "You'd be in a triage point well back from combat."

"There no such thing with Leviathan!" Yuki still shouted, not caring the least bit she was doing so to Alexandria. "They said my school would be safe when he came here, and half the students died when the roof collapse in the flooding. There's nowhere safe with an Enbringer! She doesn't want to go!"

"Well, the boss has spoken, Alexandria, we've got things to do, places to be."

Taylor didn't recognize the new speaker, but from the blue, fur-lined costume suspected she had something to do with ice or cold. Alexandria simply stood and waited, as if she knew what Taylor was going to decide before even she did.

Perhaps she did. Taylor ran past her without a word, but she knew the heroine understood. Yuki followed right on her heels.

"What are you doing?"

Taylor ran inside and up the stairs to their master bedroom. The spacious closet just off the bathroom was almost empty, built to hold far more clothes than either girl possessed yet. Taylor had her casual costume on the floor and was pulling on her combat gear as Yuki arrived.

"You promised!" Yuki screamed. "You promised you'd stay with me! That you'd protect me!"

Again, there were so many things Taylor wanted to say, but nothing came to her mind. In the face of Yuki's anguish, she couldn't think of a single thing to say that would make a difference. Instead, she pushed passed the other girl and pulled on her boots.

"The tank should have plenty of water by now," Taylor said, choosing the mundane over the essential. "I don't know when I'll be back, but you can handle the clinic for a few days."

"Taylor, stop! Please!"

She turned; Yuki had torn her mask off to reveal a grief-stricken face. "Please. Please don't leave me."

"Then come with me."

Yuki shook her head, so violently she flung tears onto the wall. "No. Fuck no! I survived Leviathan twice, I know I won't survive a third. Please, I can't lose you!"

"Then if I don't come back, you'd better come get me," Taylor said. Her lightsabers flew into her hands from the dresser. "Be safe, Yuki. I love you."

She turned to leave, accompanied by the sound of Yuki's knees striking the floor as she collapsed in tears.


	24. Wrath of a Titan

A/N: Whelp, somehow we survived 2019. Chap 23 review responses are in my forums as normal.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Wrath of a Titan**

The woman in blue was smirking when she returned. "So, decided to put the big girl pants on?"

Taylor felt her cheeks burn and felt glad that her visor, similar to Alexandria's, hid her face so well. There were five other capes that were joining them, not to mention their means of transport. Aside from the blue-clad cape, three appeared to be brutes, and the fifth was an attractive young woman who reminded Taylor of an African-American Glory Girl, complete with the white skirt. Her hair was hidden inside a stylish white and violet back-swept helmet.

The man in the blue and black uniform with a strange derby cap proved to be their transportation. He stood an inch taller than Alexandria, who at six feet was tall for a woman. His was a lanky, gawky height, however, all joints and limbs from a skinny body. He motioned for Alexandria and Taylor to fall into the group.

"Okay, ladies and gents, fasten your seatbelts. Remember, this is a non-puking flight."

Having never been teleported, Taylor wasn't sure what to expect. With an ear-splitting _crack_, they were somewhere else. Taylor's Force connection to the world around her was suddenly and violently rent apart, only to come rushing back in like a tsunami. She stumbled away from the assembled capes, fell to her padded knees and hands, and was promptly sick. She barely even felt the rain pouring down around her.

"Really, Alexandria, do you honestly think _she_ can contribute!" The blue-clad fur girl's condescension was lost in the piercing ring of Endbringer sirens.

"Rime, we're about to enter a fight with an Enbringer who kills a full quarter of all capes that go against it," Alexandria said with just a hint of rebuke. "Do you really want to piss of the healer?"

The Glory-Girl styled brute walked over and casually lifted Taylor off the ground as if she weighed only a few ounces. "You okay?"

Taylor nodded. "Power interaction. Don't like teleporting."

"It's cool. Names' Mujaji. I bring the thunder."

"Quintessence. Nice to meet you."

The two followed behind Alexandria. "You're the one that took down Overmind, right?"

"Yeah."

"Just gotta say, that took some guts, testifying for her."

"I…" Taylor forced a smile. "Thanks. Good luck. I'm a healer, so don't take this the wrong way. I hope I don't have to see you during the fight."

Mujaji laughed. "You and me both, sister."

The words might have been casual in nature, but they had to shout at each over the rain and the Endbringer sirens. Taylor found herself glancing across the familiar skyline of the city she was born and raised in.

Ahead of them, Alexandria led her team purposefully toward a non-descript brown-brick building that Taylor recognized from the edge of down town Brockton Bay. It wasn't the PRT headquarters building, though.

A sharp, loud crack like a gunshot caused Taylor to look behind her, where another group had appeared out of nowhere. This group looked like teens, all dressed in brighter costumes. Ward volunteers, then. They were led by a shirtless figure who looked like a muscled Adonis, but one made entirely of metal. The derby-hat teleporter gave them a casual salute before disappearing again.

The perfectly sculpted image of the metal Ward was ruined by what looked like a fork sticking out of a ridge of shoulder muscle near his neck, and a few partial sections of a chain link fence fused to his opposite shoulder.

Alexandria never slowed, nor did anyone in her group, so Taylor and Mujaji both had to rush a little to catch up. The two followed the other heroes into a large, low-ceiling room filled with more capes than Taylor had ever seen before.

Her head throbbed with the power in the room; with the palpable fear and anxiety. She desperately looked for any face that was friendly. She was surprised to see Gasconade standing at the far side of the room. He looked bored. Narwhal was there, with Mouse Protector. They were talking to Chevalier and Armsmaster, and all four looked up and nodded to her, blissfully unaware that she was the one that killed their mutual best friend.

"So, you out of Seattle?"

That was Mujaji again. Taylor tore her eyes away from capes whose names she grew up listening to and concentrated on her companion. "Yeah. You?"

"San Diego. Just joined the Wards a few months ago. You know they have a scholarship program?"

_Ward._ "If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

Mujaji's smile dimmed a little. "I'm almost seventeen. What of it?"

The cape sounded challenging, but Taylor could both hear and sense the fear underlaying the words.

"I'll be sixteen in a few months myself," Taylor said softly. "And I don't know about you, but I'm scared shitless. I want to be here, and I think I can help with the healing, but I'm fucking scared out of my mind right now."

The challenging look melted right out of the other teenaged cape. "You and me both, sister. So, fifteen, huh?"

Taylor nodded.

"You know any of these other capes? I'm the only one from my team who came. I mean, I know it's a truce and shit, but we both know some people are better in a truce than others."

"True." Taylor took the other girl's elbow and subtly pointed her toward the corner where the Empire 88 gathered. "San Diego has a chapter of the Sons of the Republic, right?"

Mujaji snorted. "Yeah."

"Those guys over there make the SOR look like girl scouts. That's the Empire 88. Kaiser is a ferrokinetic. He doesn't just control metal, he came make it from scratch. Those two barbies at his side? Fenja and Menja, changers. They can get as big as Leviathan. The guy with the bare chest? That's Hookwolf. He could take Grizzly apart."

"Too bad he's a fucking racist, boy has some meat on his bones."

And because she said it, now Taylor realized that Hookwolf really did look like a 50s era model, with the broad, slightly hairy chest rippling with muscles.

"You know, I was doing just find before you said that," she muttered.

Mujaji's snorting laughter didn't sound remorseful at all. "And here I was thinking you were batting for the home team only."

"I'm in a relationship, I'm not blind," Taylor muttered.

That actually made Mujaji laugh harder. "Don't know, that little girlfriend of yours didn't take kindly to you coming."

"Long story."

"Oh, who's that hottie over there with the blue hair? Standing next to the sasquatch and the barbie doll?"

This time Taylor couldn't swallow her snorting laughter. She was pointing at New Wave. "Blue hair is…Shielder. Barbie is his cousin Glory Girl. Sasquatch is Shielder's dad, Manpower."

"Manpower?" Mujaji assumed a thoughtful pose, rubbing her cheek. "I could see it. Man like that has to be hung like a…"

"Please don't finish that sentence about my husband."

Mujaji actually squeaked as she and Taylor spun about to face Sarah Pelham, the leader of Brockton Bay' New Wave. She was tall, blonde, athletically fit for a woman in her forties, and beautiful in a way to grace magazine covers.

"Photon Mom!" Taylor blurted. "I mean, Lady Photon!"

"Was there a reason you were checking out my son?" Lady Photon said.

"Um, yes," Mujaji said. She grinned. "First, he's mighty cute. Second, I'm a Ward and Quintessence here is my age, and this is our first Endbringer fight. I was trying to take her mind off shit with some eye candy."

"In that case, Legend is over there if you like more seasoned gentlemen, and Aegis is there with the local Wards."

Taylor's jaw dropped. Mujaji laughed uproariously. Then she actually looked. "Shit, you ain't joking. Aegis, huh? You know if he's seeing anyone?"

Lady Photon laughed softly, but then studied Taylor. "Quintessence, then? Alexandria mentioned she was going to try to get you to come. I was sorry not to see you at Canberra, I know Panacea very much wanted to talk to you."

"She does?"

"To my knowledge, you're the only healer in the country whose commercialized your power," Lady Photon noted. "The articles I read in Parahuman Weekly seemed to hint you were doing quite well for yourself, even if you refused interviews."

"I'm in Parahuman Weekly?"

"Well look at you, girl!" Mujaji said. "I'm rubbing shoulders with important people now. Can I get your autograph? Oh, I know. Why don't we go talk to this Panacea. And I can meet Shielder."

"He's only fifteen," Lady Photon said.

Mujaji bloomed into a near blinding smile. "Perfect."

"He doesn't even have a driver's license yet."

"That's okay." Mujaji's voice dropped down a full octave. "I can fly."

Lady Photon shook her head and grinned. "Come on, girls. If nothing else, Quintessence, you'll be working with Panacea. It'll be good for you to meet."

"So, is the no-mask thing common?" Mujaji asked. "You guys get outed?"

Lady Photon shook her head. "New Wave tried to start a movement to do away with secret identities. We unmasked, hoping it would lead to better accountability. Unfortunately, it didn't work out."

Taylor knew all about New Wave's famous public outing, and then the murder of their member Fleur not long after. But her estimation of her new friend went up by a factor of ten when Mujaji understood just from Lady Photon's tone not to ask about it.

The rest of New Wave had folding chairs and formed a little family circle. Taylor recognized them all, of course, but had to pretend she didn't. So when Lady Photon introduced them all, she made a show of acting surprised.

The funny thing was when Glory Girl stood up to shake Mujaji's hand.

"Oh my God I love your helmet!" Glory Girl gushed.

"Is that a real diamond in that Tiara?"

"How do you keep your skirt down?"

"Biker shorts, so it doesn't matter."

"Oh my God, me too!"

Like her mother and aunt, Glory Girl was blonde, buxom and magazine-cover beautiful. Standing as she was next to Mujaji, who was also buxom and beautiful, with the most flawless skin Taylor had ever seen, it was enough to make a girl feel inadequate.

Glory Girl's sister looked exactly how Taylor felt. She wore a heavy white robe with the same star motif as the rest of New Wave, but with the addition of a red cross on the front of it. Where Glory Girl had a tapered chin and strong Nordic brows, Panacea's face was round and somewhat flat, with her curly brown hair giving her a more Mediterranean look.

Even if she didn't know Panacea was adopted, she could have guess.

Lady Photon snorted again. "Quintessence, Panacea. Panacea, Quintessence, out of Seattle."

Taylor took her hand. "And honor to meet you," she said.

Panacea frowned briefly at the contact of their hands before pulling back. "Yeah, you too. So, you run your own clinic, huh? How much do you charge?"

"Sliding scale," Taylor said. "Base rate of $200 with no upper limit."

Taylor recognized Panacea's mother just from her similarity to Lady Photon. Brandish wore her hair in a short bob, but otherwise she looked very similar to Lady Photon, if only a little heavier. She was also frowning intently.

"You're the healer who charges?" The tone sounded challenging. Beside her, Panacea rolled her eyes. "You know, these powers are a gift. A hero should never charge for helping people."

"You may be right, ma'am," Taylor said with a respectful nod she did not feel. "I'm not a hero. I'm a Rogue. I'm also an orphan. I don't have parents to take care of me, I have to do it myself. I suppose as a young parahuman I could have joined a gang or started robbing people. That seems to be what most do. I chose to use my power to make a comfortable living while helping people."

The older cape gaped a moment. Lady Photon stepped in to save the moment. "Well said, Quintessence. I would much rather see a young cape using their powers productively than not."

At the head of the room, Taylor could see Legend talking with Alexandria and Armsmaster. Though Alexandria was one of the founders of the Protectorate, Legend served as the actual leader of the organization as a whole. He sported a thick but skintight blue costume with a design in white that fell somewhere between flame and electricity in style.

"So, you're a Ward," Taylor heard Glory Girl say. "You ever meet Legend?"

"Yeah," Mujaji said. "My ceremony was in New York. He's gorgeous, isn't he? Too bad he's off the market. And old."

Since she'd seen two of the three leaders of the Protectorate, Taylor looked for the third. She found Eidolon behind one of the television sets that lined the far side of the room. He stood with his hands behind his cape, staring out a window. Like Legend, his costume was made of a thick material that clung tightly to his form. Over it he wore a voluminous hood, cape and sleeves that draped down to the floor, and which at the moment was bunched behind his clasped hands. The interior of the hood and sleeves wasn't shadowy, but illuminated with a soft green light, though Taylor knew this from publicity photos since from her angle she couldn't see him well.

Alexandria was fast, strong and almost invulnerable. Taylor knew from personal experience the woman was a powerful Thinker as well. Legend could travel almost at the speed of light, and was considered a flying laser artillery. He could make his lasers bend around corners, and could use them both to burn and freeze.

But Eidolon? Eidolon had all powers, even if he could only use three at a time. Short of Scion himself, Eidolon was the most powerful single cape in the world with the possible exception of the insane, soul-reaping Fairy Queen who currently spent her days in the Birdcage.

Capes were still coming in when Armsmaster and Legend made their way to the center of the room. Once in position to speak, Legend cleared his throat. His voice in some way reminded Taylor of stage actor. He had everyone's attention at the first word.

"We owe thanks to Dragon and Armsmaster for their early alert. We've had time to gather, and that means we have just a few more minutes to prepare and brief for Leviathan's arrival, instead of jumping straight into the fray as we arrive. With this advantage, some luck, teamwork and hard effort from everyone, I hold out hope that this could be one of the good days."

"But you should know your chances going in. Given the statistics from our previous encounters with this beast, a 'good day' still means that one in four of the people in this room will probably be dead before this day is done. If anything can be said to be going our way, it's the fact that we have at least three very powerful healers on hand. That's more hope than we normally have."

Taylor's knees shook when he nodded toward her and Panacea. She guessed he was talking about the Empire's Othala as the third.

He continued on, making sure to look around at every part of the room. "I'm telling you your chances now because you deserve to know, and we so rarely get the chance to inform those individuals brave enough to step up and fight these monsters. The primary message I want to convey, even more than briefing you on the particulars of his abilities, organizing formations and battle plans, is that I do not want you to underestimate Leviathan. I have seen too many good heroes and villains, too, die because they let their guard down."

Beyond the windows that Eidolon continued to look out of, the storm clouds that heralded the approach of the Endbringer had reached the beach, and torrential rain stirred the water into a froth. Torrents of water abruptly started pounding against the windows.

Legend acknowledge the torrent with a nod, but continued his briefing. He described Leviathan's physical strength and almost impossible toughness. He warned them repeatedly about the Endbringer's cunning and his water "echo" that he used to crush or even cut opposing capes.

"Newfoundland," Legend told them, reminding them of the worst of Leviathan's attacks. "May ninth, 2005. Nearly half a million dead. The Canadian island simply gone, after the shelf of land holding it up cracked in the face of what we now understand were incredible pressures beneath the water level.

"Kyushu, the night of November second and the morning of the third, 1999. His sixth appearance. Nine and a half million killed when the region was swamped with tidal waves from every direction while Leviathan disrupted prearranged evacuation attempts. Nearly three million evacuees rendered homeless, a nation sundered.

"These were errors, grave mistakes from defending heroes. We had but one strategy at the time – to hem him in, minimizing the effects of growing waves and casualties until Leviathan was beaten into a retreat or Scion arrived. These areas, however, were too vulnerable. Waiting let Leviathan build up the strength of his attacks, and we lost."

He paused. "We have since classified the locations the Endbringers target as either hard targets or soft targets. The hard battlefields are where we stand our ground, buy time, wear him down. The soft ones are locations where we cannot afford to do this."

The television screen showed a cross section of Brockton Bay as seen from ground level. The West end of the city was bordered by hills, and the terrain sloped gradually from the base of the mountain down to the water. Directly below the image of the buildings that marked the city's location, there was a large cavern, bordered by rock on all sides except the part nearest the beach, which was sand. It was marked blue – filled with water.

"Brockton Bay, this location, is a soft target. The city was originally founded at this location because of the proximity to the coastline for trade routes and an aquifer that provided the first settlers with access to fresh water. This aquifer, essentially an underground lake beneath the city, is our weak point. From the moment Leviathan shows himself, we expect he will stir and manipulate this underground reservoir to erode the surrounding sand, silt and rock. Add the tidal waves from above, with the resulting tremors and impacts…"

The briefing continued, while behind them the windows rattled with the coming storm.

When Legend finished his not-even-remotely peppy pep-talk, he turned to Armsmaster who took over the briefing. "The Wards are handing out armbands of Dragon's design. These are adjustable to slide over your arm and should be tightened around your wrist. The screen on the top of the armband notes your position on a grid, as well as Leviathan's last updated location. Use this. You'll also note there are two buttons. The button to the left lets you send messages to everyone else wearing an armband. It will not, unless you are a member of the Protectorate or otherwise a veteran of these fights, directly communicate what you say to everyone else wearing an armband. Dragon has a program screening messages and passing them on through the network based on priority, to cut down on unnecessary chatter that could distract from crucial information. If you must bypass this three to five second delay, speak the words 'Hard Override' before conveying your message. Abuse of this feature will lose you the ability to send any further messages."

"The second button is a ping. Use it in the case of an emergency, to alert others if you are in danger or hurt. If it is not an emergency, but you want assistance, such as a flier to get you to another vantage point or you see an opportunity to turn the tables, press both buttons, tell the armband what you want. Dragon's program will prioritize your needs, with assistance being directed your way if others are not occupied with more pressing matters. The armband tracks your condition and will automatically send a ping if you are badly injured or unconscious."

Legend called out, "Capes! If you have faced an Endbringer before, stand!"

A surprising number of the capes stood, but even more remained seated.

"When in doubt, follow the orders of the Protectorate first! We have trained, organized and planned for this! The others who are standing, now, are the ones you listen to if we aren't contradicting their order! They have been through situations much like this, you go with their instincts!

"We are splitting you into groups based on your abilities! If you are confident you can take a hit from Leviathan and get up afterwards, or if you have the ability to produce expendable combatants, we need you on the front line! You will be directed by Alexandria and Dragon!"

"Armsmaster and Chevalier will be leading the hand to hand combatants who do not fit in Alexandria's group! Anyone who thinks they can harm or hamper Leviathan in close quarters, you'll be assisting and reinforcing the front line!"

"That's me, I'm afraid," Brandish said. She gripped Taylor's shoulder briefly before kissing her husband and hugging her girls. "Be safe, all of you." She left the group to join Arsmamster and several other local heroes and villains, while Glory Girl made her way to Alexandria's group.

The boy with the metal skin appeared to Taylor's left. "Quintessence, right? I read about you. I'm Weld. Good luck." He handed her the armband Armsmaster spoke of before moving away to hand out more. Taylor set it up with her cape name.

Meanwhile, Legend was still organizing the groups. "-forcefields, telekinesis, whatever your power, if you can interrupt Leviathan's movements or help reduce the impacts of the waves, you're the backup defense! Bastion will direct you!"

This led to Lady Photon, Laserdream and Shielder breaking off from New Wave.

"Movers! We need fliers, teleporters, runners! You'll be responding to pings! Rescue the fallen, get them to emergency care, assist any others where needed! Myrddin will give you your orders!

"Long ranged attackers, with me! If you fall in more than one category, go with the group where you think you'll be the greatest assistance!"

"That's me," Mujaji said.

She turned to go, but Taylor reached over and grabbed her hand. "When this is over, come visit me," Taylor said. "I know a lady who makes the best chimichangas in the world."

Mujaji grinned. "You know it. Good luck, Quintessence."'

"You yoo, Mujaji."

She watched as her new friend walked away. Staring after the young cape, Taylor was suddenly struck by an overwhelming sense of danger from the Force. She turned to see Panacea flanked by her father Flashbang on one side, and her Uncle Manpower on the other. "We need to get to the hospital or wherever now," Taylor said. "Leviathan's about to target this building."

The three remaining members of New Wave didn't even question her. Manpower gathered Panacea up in his arms as if she were a baby and started rushing toward the street-side entrance.

Taylor pressed down the two buttons on her bracelet. "This is Quintessence, healer and…um, pre-cog. Leviathan is about to target this building. Evacuate now!"

At the front, Legend's speech was abruptly interrupted. Seconds later, Taylor's voice echoed through the room, borne by all the arm bands. "You heard the pre-cog," Legend called. "Let's move! Strider, start getting people in position!"

Taylor didn't linger to listen, she followed after Manpower and Flashbang. Outside, the streets were already covered in a foot of water and the rain fell with such intensity it was difficult even to breathe. She could barely make out Manpower plowing easily through the flood with his brother-in-law struggling to keep up.

Taylor gathered the Force and shot after them. After a few steps, her feet didn't even sink into the water as she quickly caught up to the remainder of New Wave. However, after a few more blocks Lady Photon and Glory Girl arrived.

"Neil, let Vicky take Amy!" the leader of New Wave said as she flew right in front of them. "Quintessence, may I carry you to the hospital?"

Taylor grinned weakly and wiped away the rain. "Absolutely!"

By the time they reached the hospital, even flying, Taylor's armband began chiming the names of the fallen. "_Carapacitator down, CD-5. Krieg down, CD-5. WCM deceased, CD-5. Iron Falcon down, CD-5. Saurian down, CD-5…"_

The hospital staff waited anxiously for the arrival of the healers. Othala was already there, clad in a skin-tight red body suit that seemed to shout to Taylor, "_My figure's better than yours._" Which, sadly, was not saying much. Despite her villainous colors and an eye-patch with a Nordic rune on it that made her look like a cartoon villain, she was already talking to a pair of nurses regarding getting the triage set up.

Taylor walked toward them as well, while Panacea simply moved to a corner of the spacious lobby of the hospital. Othala turned to look at Taylor mask, her one blue eye widening behind her featureless white mask.

"You're Quintessence," the Empire cape said. "Read about you in Parahuman Weekly. Glad to have you here."

Taylor just didn't know what to say to that, so she pretended she wasn't talking to a one-eyed Bond-girl Nazi. "I have a Thinker rating with my power. I can handle triage. My healing is slower than Panacea's and yours, but more versatile. I can also stabilize patients for later healing if necessary."

A doctor stepped forward from the line. "What's your specialty?"

"My PRT healer's license lists me at a 6 on the Manton-Andon scale for non-invasive regenerative healing. And we're about to get patients, so we need to be ready."

The doctor, whose name tag Taylor couldn't see, but who thought of himself as Shamir, started to demand how she knew, only for the doors to bang open and the first casualties to come rushing in.

In the rush of bodies; of people hurting or on the verge of death or sadly sometimes far beyond that threshold, Taylor lost all track of time or sense of self. She stood at the door with a bevy of nurses and three bags of tags. They kept the system simple—black was dead or as good as. Red meant rushing to Panacea or Othala. Yellow meant they could wait and green meant they'd be fine without immediate intervention.

None of the capes who came in were green, and only a handful were yellow. Most were red, or black.

After each rush of patients were evacuated from the battle lines, Taylor went among the tables stabilizing all the reds until Panacea or Othala could get to them. The rest of the medical staff took care of the yellows and greens. The hospital staff moved with smooth efficiency as they transported resolved or pending patients out of the lobby and brought the new ones in in a constant, seemingly endless conveyer belt of pain and misery.

Over everything Taylor felt a constant thrum of danger and terror from the city around her, and the capes fighting to save it. The rain battered the hospital so hard the glass doors sounded like they were about to shatter.

The most powerful of the capes in the city exuded a grim, hopeless determination. No one thought they could truly kill Leviathan—they simply hoped to hold him back until Scion arrived. The problem was that Scion, for all his power, appeared to be idiotic, almost to the level of severe malfunction. He'd only said one word since he first appeared and heralded in the age of capes, and was known to spend his time saving kittens in trees while Endbringers burned cities down. The Triumvirate prayed for Scion's arrival, but none of them could actually count on it.

Abruptly Taylor's armband beeped at her. "_Be advised we have lost sight of Leviathan."_

More capes came in. Taylor sucked in a breath when she saw three members of New Wave among them. Flashbang, Panacea's father, was bleeding from a terrible rent down his torso and from a massive gash in his head. Shielder's entire left shoulder was gone in a terrifyingly precise cut, as if a giant scalpel had removed it.

Laserdream had no legs.

Taylor poured Force energy into Shielder and threw red tags at the other two. "Get them to Panacea, highest priority!"

She didn't have to shout; the nurses were already moving. Taylor herself escorted Shielder as she continuing pouring Force energy into his body in an effort to keep him alive. When she reached the other healer, Panacea was staring in horror at her father. "I can't…I can't…"

"Amy!" Taylor shouted her name, causing her to whip her head around and stare. "My power is slower, but I _can_ heal brains. Just keep them alive! Hurry!"

She'd done all she could for Shielder; unfortunately, more bodies were coming in as capes took advantage of the lull in the fighting to do search and rescue. She didn't even think twice about stabilizing Narwhal when she came in—she was just another body in need of healing.

"_All units be advised. Leviathan sighted DA-7. Repeat, Leviathan sighted DA-7. Evacuate triage site immediately!"_

"What…" The words didn't make sense. Taylor hadn't been fighting, so she wasn't sure what the grid coordinates were. Not until the entire building began to shake. The hospital was set on a hill a mile inland, which was why they considered it safe. Even during the worst hurricanes in the city's history, Brockton Memorial never flooded.

Until now. Water burst into the door for just a second until abruptly it turned into a cloud of vapor that spun around until it flew into a point at the tip of a wooden staff held by a bearded man in a burlap robe. Myrrdin and Eidolon stood side by side at the entrance of the hospital, one of them vaporizing the water while the other sucked the vapor away. Beyond them, standing in the flooded parking lot of the hospital, stood Leviathan.

The Force went flat in Taylor's mind, like a heart monitor on a dead patient. Through the heavy downpour Taylor could see the monstrous silhouette rising thirty feet above the crushed, obliterated cars of the hospital staff. He stood on digitigrade feet, with hugely, inhumanly muscled shoulders, neck and torso. The proportions of his muscles were simply wrong.

His calves and forearms seemed too long for his height, his clawed fingers and digitigrade feet doubly so. He swayed back and forth on the parking lot, and as he did so hundreds of tons of water casually swayed with him, slamming into any of the grounded capes who were even then trying to catch up to him. His tail swayed above him, easily twice the length of his body and flicking like a whip.

Rivers of water poured around him in the wake of his movements, roughly the same amount of mass as the body part that had just occupied the space. This 'afterimage' streamed down him and splashed violently against the water he waded through.

Behind Taylor, hospital staff and patients alike were screaming as they tried to evacuate, but she didn't need the Force to know they could not outrun this creature. This…

_Leviathan has no Force presence._ Leviathan did not feel like a living thing at all. Rather, he felt like a machine, though one so far beyond Taylor's understanding of the term as to be magic. She expanded her senses as she reached for the monster in the Force, trying to grasp what drove it to do what it did. Was it programmed? Was it sentient in some way?

The Force provided her no hint of emotion; no agency at all. It acted by another's will. Was it one of the true leviathans she saw in her vision driving it? If so, to what end?

_If she could find the control impulse, could that lead her to the true enemy?_

Pulling in all the raw Force power she could, Taylor reached even deeper into the strange, horrifying machine's depths, trying to find what linked it to its master. If she could find and sever the connection, could she simply turn Leviathan off? _Could she control it?_

Suddenly she had it. Like a girl accidently stubbing her toe on buried pirate's treasure, her senses stumbled across a numbingly powerful pulse of energy that was more than a radio wave but less than true telepathy. It felt almost like a laser transmission bundling together strings of hatred and self-loathing and jealousy, emotions so human and mundane that they seemed utterly wrong housed within such a creature as this.

With the discovery came a recognition, and with that recognition, bowel-shaking terror. She came back to herself from deep within the Force to see four glowing yellow slits looked back at her in a lop-sided mockery of a face—one eye on the right of the flat, rigid, otherwise featureless plane of Leviathan's face, and three on the left. The face plate was as large as her whole body, and within that pulse of energy that she now knew controlled it, she sensed the impulse to destroy.

She was levitating three feet away from Leviathan's face, wrapped up within a cocoon of Force energy. Through the rain and water, she could see his tail rise up over his head, it's point as sharp as an arrow. She knew with all the assurance of the Force that she was about to die.

_Use the Force, my sister!_ Taylor recognized the voice in her head—she'd heard it before months ago. Right now, face-to-face with an organic machine that had just within her father's lifetime utterly destroyed whole nations and could crack continental shelves in half, her mind filled with what sounded like the screams of over a million years of Force users. A million, billion voices cried out in warning and a million, billion ghosts joined her as she screamed, summoned so much power her body hurt from it, and pushed out with a wave of kinetic energy just as Leviathan's tail started to snap toward her body.

Leviathan itself ducked as if to avoid the blast. Water spilled upward in a perversion of a waterfall as it sought to use its hydrokinesis to lock its position. It wasn't enough. The Force-blast struck the monster with power enough to shatter two nearby office buildings. The whole beast shot up and out of the air, tumbling. Taylor had just a moment to see Alexandria take advantage of the monster's flight by slamming into it like a bullet.

That moment ended when Leviathan's water echo slammed into her and swiped her out of the air like a gnat.

It didn't feel like water striking her, but rather as if she'd fallen from a great height and slammed face-first into the ground. She didn't even feel pain, which was what seemed so odd. She felt the impact; she knew she was terribly hurt. But in that first crushing second when the water hit, she didn't feel pain.

She felt numb, as if the nerves in her body were so completely overwhelmed that she could not feel anything. Her stomach told her she was falling, but her ears were filled only with the crushing, insulating pressure of water. It felt almost like that one time, when she was eight, and tried to do a high dive with Emma, only to hit the water wrong.

This time, the water hit _her_ wrong.

The timeless, terrifying moment finally ended. No time for the fear to sink in. No time to think, "_Well, I'm dead."_ She slammed into rough, hard cement as the water exploded around her. Finally, the exquisite pain overwhelmed all conscious thought. She tried desperately to breathe, but had only water in her lungs. She tried to move, but every limb refused her desire.

Overhead, through the haze of water, tears and blood, she saw an intense flash of golden light, before that too faded into darkness.


	25. Ballad of a Lost Girl

A/N: Chap 24 Review Responses are in my forums as normal. Many people noticed a continuity error in the last chapter resulting from a discarded draft that I didn't quite edit out enough. It's been fixed. I'm also pleased to announce that I finished the first draft of the final chapters of the story. It's tentatively going to be 49 full chapters and an epilogue. Normal posting will continue weekly until the story is complete, since that is also a part of my writing/editing process.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Ballad of A Lost Girl**

On the morning Leviathan attacked Brockton Bay, Lisa Wilbourn woke up to a boiling stomach and throbbing agony from her burns. Her good eye welled with tears that just made the burns sting worse.

The door opened and Mr. Pitter walked in, pushing a large metal tub with one hand while pulling a small surgical cart with the other.

"Good morning," he said in that dead, soulless tone of his. _Chronic depression. Coil killed abusive wife in return for loyalty. Only joy was treating kids. Lost everything. No longer feels anything._

The information her power delivered was nothing new, because nothing about Pitter changed. He left the door open so that one of Coil's handful of female mercenaries could see inside, and then helped Sarah out of her pajamas.

She fought him at first when they began the routine, just on principal. Her power assured her that he saw her as nothing more than a patient-a piece of meat he had to keep clean. A pet to wash and feed and keep healthy. In a sick irony, he actually was a very good nurse. Before his ex-wife destroyed his life, he might have even been a good person.

Now he was just a shell. Like Lisa herself.

Pitter had a habit of humming under his breath. He did so as he efficiently, professionally washed her. It was a children's nursery song, one he used to sing to the kids he treated.

She said nothing as he took an electric razor and shaved her still short-hair on the unburned side of her head down to the scalp. There was no good way to care for it without getting the burns wet, and so he shaved it every bath and then just sponge-washed her unburnt skin.

"Stand?"

Sarah tried. Nausea bent her over, and she would have fallen if Pitter's strong arm hadn't caught her. He held her as she vomited bile all over the floor. The act of vomiting caused knives of agony to shoot across her whole body from her burns, which just made her throw up again while sobbing.

_Opioid addiction. Tolerance. Upping dosage every day for same pain relief. I'm going to die. Coil's going to use me until my power fails, and then I am going to die._

The realization of that cold, simple truth hurt, but like her knowledge of Pitter, it was nothing new. She knew the moment she woke up in agony in a concrete bunker that her life was over. But the intellectual acceptance was not equipped for the emotional and physical reality of just how long it would take for her life to end, or how much it would hurt in the meantime.

Pitter placed two morphine patches on her left shoulder. It didn't make the pain go away, but blunted the worse of the pain so she didn't throw up any more. He picked her up out of the tub, and then stood her in the middle of the floor as he carefully toweled her dry. He stepped back to his surgical cart and removed a small stack of large, individually wrapped bandages.

"Blasto made these," Pitter said casually. "Mr. Coil believes they will help heal the infections and the burns better than the last patches. They won't remove the scarring, unfortunately, but at least the burns will be healed."

_Nothing new. Had patches available. Under orders not to apply them until Coil said so. Coil needs me cognizant enough to function._

Whatever her power might have told her, the sheer, numbing relief as Pitter gently layered the first patch over her burned scalp stole the strength from her knees. She flopped down to the cold, hard cement, barely feeling the pained shock of the fall against her bare skin.

In the hall way, the female mercenary looked away.

Pitter simply knelt down beside her to apply the other patches, each ten inches square. He layered them like tiles, ensuring ever square inch of her burns was covered. The relief brought tears to her good eye.

He dressed her, just like her parents used to when she was a baby.

"Please stay there," he said.

She remained frozen as he walked to the door. The mercenary carried her Beretta 92FS in her hand. It was surplus military issue, Lisa's power unhelpfully informed her. Full magazine, bullet in the barrel ready to fire.

_Knows I'm a cape. Knows I could be dangerous. Will shoot me if I make any attempt to talk to her._

The worst part was how very tempted Lisa was to do just that—to engage her executioner. Suicide by mercenary. She didn't, though. Couldn't, really. It wasn't that she wasn't so miserable that suicide could be a considered a viable option. Rather, the horror that she might end up dying the same way her brother did kept her mouth shut.

Pitter returned with cleaning supplies. He mopped the floor around her, wiped down her desk and the computer monitor. When he was done with that, he removed the thin, foam mattress and bed frame.

A minute later he returned with another mercenary, carrying in a larger wooden frame which they set in the same corner. Another trip brought in a mattress—a real spring mattress with a pillow top, a large foam wedge to let her sleep at an incline, and several fluffy pillows that smelled brand new.

Next came a night stand in matching style to the frame.

Finally, to Sarah's surprise, Pitter brought in a large, flatscreen television which he secured to preexisting cables and anchors in the wall. The last thing they brought it in was a tray of food. Her power identified it was a light vegetable stew with a slice of French bread. The smell made her mouth water.

Pitter guided her back to her new bed. The mattress was so thick she could sit on it from the floor. He pushed the food tray to her, tucked the napkin into her top, and then regarded her frankly. "Do with wish me to help you eat?"

Lisa was right handed, but the burns made using her right arm unbearable. If she'd had any pride, she would have made due with her left. Her pride, though, was burned away when she watched Lung kill her friends and then laugh as he made her scream.

She nodded.

The food felt at once heavy and wonderful in her stomach. He gave her additional medication—another pain pill, and then a pill to offset the opioid-induced constipation. And then he left her sitting on her bed, staring at the blank television.

"Five, four, three, two, one…"

The door to her cell opened again, and Coil stepped inside.

"You look better," he said.

She said nothing. Given their recent exchanges, Coil took this as a victory. Lisa didn't care.

"You did a service, and in return you were rewarded," Coil said, as if speaking to a child and not one of the most highly rated thinkers in the country. "I've told you before that we could have such a mutually beneficial relationship. But now, that relationship must advance. You see, my other pet has made a prediction. Can you guess what she told me?"

Lisa flicked from Coil's featureless, bony body to her new bed and television. "Something you need me to analyze. Something big."

"Big indeed. According to my other pet, there is a better than 90% chance that Leviathan will strike Brockton Bay. More importantly, there is an 80% chance that a cape named Quintessence will join the fight."

"You mean Taylor Hebert."

"Yes, Taylor Hebert. The only known, confirmed parahuman telepath in the world. A free-telekinetic without Manton limit. A limited pre-cog and confirmed Tinker. And a powerful healer. She is important. And if she were to join us, there is very little I couldn't do to help save the world. I need you to monitor the events of this day. I need to know if her power does everything Alexandria thinks it does, and if opportunity presents itself, I need you to help me capture her. Do this for me, Tattletale, and your service will be rewarded. Right now, I've offered you relief for your burns. With Hebert at my side, I could offer you full restoration. A new team. Freedom. Will you assist me?"

Coil already knew what she would say. He used his own power to whittle down his pitch to just the right words. He checked every box—saving the world and restoring her body.

"Sure," she said, not trusting herself to say anything more.

Coil gave a satisfied nod. "Excellent. I'll have additional equipment brought in for your job today. I'm glad you made the right choice, Tattletale. You are a truly lovely, talented young woman. I would hate all that potential to go to waste."

He walked out, leaving her stomach to clench with a need to throw up again.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Lisa's new chair felt luxurious—richly upholstered, velvety fabric, since the leather could aggravate her injuries. Reclining, swivel, large enough for her to curl her feet up under her. She did so as she pulled the keyboard closer. On the new, larger steel desks, five separate monitors each articulated twenty camera views from drones that Coil had spread through the city under his civilian guise.

She was looking at direct PRT feed, and so she saw when Alexandria teleported in with Strider, the independent mover cape who had become an indispensable part of Endbringer fights. She watched as one of those capes that accompanied Alexandria spun around in obvious disorientation before falling to her knees. That particular drone did not capture sound, but Lisa felt comfortably sure that she was being very noisily sick.

_Teleportation hard counter to her power. _

That was definitely a point Coil would be happy to know. Most powers had a hard counter—Grue was a hard counter to Shadow Stalker, though both were dead so what did that matter? But the Siberian was a hard counter to Alexandria (any everything else). She was likely a hard counter to Eidolon as well, though they'd never tested that. For all her supposed power, for Quintessence to be susceptible to a relatively common mover power was a glaring weakness.

Lisa tried very, very hard not to pay attention to the fact that, even in her deep bunker, she could hear the Endbringer sirens.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"_What the fuck is going on?"_

"_Holy shit did you see that? We're pushing him back!"_

The voices kept pouring through the armband frequency that Coil had tapped into for Lisa's monitoring.

Though the main fight was taking place more than a mile away from the hospital where Quintessence was assisting with Panacea and Othala, the early picture Lisa pieced together was unusual compared to past fights with Leviathan shed studied. For one, in almost every fight from Kyushu to Newfoundland, the Endbringer managed a first strike that usually took out no less than ten capes.

This time, the initial strike only took two down, due in large part to Quintessence's early warning about the briefing building being targeted.

_Pre-Cognition confirmed. _

In one of the monitors from the hospital, Lisa could see hospital staff moving with quiet, determined efficiency through the triage area. It looked almost like a dance, the way LVNs and RNs swirled effortlessly around and between doctors and patients, always where they needed to be to ensure that Panacea or Othala had a patient in front of them. Throughout it all, like a shark in a sea of minnows, Quintessence went about from patient to patient, stabilizing and triaging more effectively than trained professionals with decades of experience.

Lisa let her eyes slip out of focus and the moment she stopped focusing on individuals, she saw the pattern.

_Movement unnaturally efficient. _

_Directed. Like ants in a hive. Each knows where they need to be and what their job was._

_Only discordant movement is Quintessence. _

_Not like a shark. Like the queen bee in a hive. The hive moves around her as she directs._

The armband buzzed. _"Fuckin' A, did you see that! That was fuckin' beautiful!"_

Australian, a flying artillery cape from Queensland. Lisa flicked her eyes to another monitor—this one a mounted camera on top of the Brockton Oil building. She took control of the monitor and zoomed in through the squall, which had momentarily moved to concentrate around the battle itself. Through the rain she could see various lines of blaster capes firing at a point below the buildings that she presumed was Leviathan. The capes moved in a V-formation, almost like geese on migration. Each shot of their various lasers and other weapons were perfectly timed and concentrated.

Even as she watched, the Endbringer must have lashed out because a blade of water flew up with such speed it seemed impossible that all the fliers wouldn't be cut in half. Abruptly the sky lit up as, against all odds and expectations, five of the most powerful force-field producing capes managed to be right where they needed be to shield the blasters from the attack.

_Movement unnaturally coordinated. Directed. Each knows where they need to be and where they need to strike._

Sarah felt her jaw hanging open and she stared back down at the CC monitor where Quintessence continued moving calmly through the waves of incoming injured.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Lisa's power caused her head to throb worse than the burns. She couldn't turn it off, though, any more than she could have shut her mouth.

Quintessence hovered in the air like a black-clad angel, just feet from Leviathan's face. More astonishing yet, the Endbringer had frozen for over half a minute now, as if touched by Brockton's time-stopping Ward, Clockblocker.

_Telepathic attack. Not even aware of her proximity to danger. Looking for something within Leviathan. _

The monster's long, prehensile tail began to rise over its shoulder, prepared to cut Quintessence in half.

The levitating cape must have come out of her fugue state, because she screamed. The audio on the hospital's hard-mounted cameras wasn't good, but the scream was loud. And following it, a pulse of brute telekinetic power equal to something Eidolon might have produced.

The blast flattened the hospital's parking garage and the secondary clinic near the main hospital and sent Leviathan flying backward. Even as the Endbringer flew backward, though, it's water echo struck Quintessence out of the air.

The small figure flew backward in the midst of the water, struck the wall of the hospital and fell to the lake that gathered around the hospital's steps like a broken rag doll. Lisa refocused the camera and zoomed down to see Taylor Hebert's battered face, bruised and bleeding and exposed for all the world to see, since her helmet didn't survive the blow.

Movement from all of the other monitors dragged her eyes up and over. In the emergency room, nurses, faculty and healers alike stumbled and looked around in momentary confusion. They recovered quickly, but the smooth efficiency of their steps was gone.

Alexandria swooped in and clotheslined the monster as he fell. His tail reached up, wrapped around her waist, and slammed her into a vacant building. But then Scion arrived—the first and most powerful cape in the world. The fight was as good as over.

Her eyes sought the monitor where Quintessence fell and she felt her stomach drop.

Armsmaster stood swaying in the rain. One of his arms was gone at the shoulder, though not bleeding. _Internal mechanism of his armor, providing treatment and pain relief._

In his good arm, he held his famous tinker-tech halberd pointed right at the unmoving face of Hebert.

A new cape arrived. Beautiful, black teenager, lighting powers. She knelt over Quintessence and shouted something at Armsmaster. He snarled back a response, and the cape, Mujaji, stumbled back from Quintessence with a confused expression.

_Unmasked. Will never be Quintessence again._

The main speaker on her desk beeped loudly at her. The sound was followed moments later by Coil's silky, slimy voice. "_Tattletale, report. What's happening at the hospital_?"

"Quintessence faced off against Leviathan. Some type of telepathic attack that slowed him long enough for Scion to arrive. He knocked her out with his water echo. Her mask was destroyed. If you want this girl, you'd better move quick, Boss. She's been unmasked, and it looks like Armsmaster's about to murder her."

Lisa's power helpfully informed her that Coil did make a call in his civilian identity as a PRT assistant director, because a second before Armsmaster swung his halberd at the defenseless, unconscious Taylor Hebert, a streak of white light briefly overwhelmed the monitor.

Legend stood between the stumbling Armsmaster and Hebert. He arrived in the same flash of light as the laser blast that knocked Armsmaster back. Again, the hospital audio wasn't good enough to pick up exactly what they were saying, but Lisa didn't need her power to guess it was an order to stand down.

Alexandria arrived seconds later. In the sky, Eidolon floated down, but didn't land. He simply watched. Others were emerging from the hospital—the ambulatory injured, nurses and doctors. Many had phones and were recording everything.

New outlets paid good money for street-level Endbringer footage.

The deed was done. Quintessence's private identify was destroyed.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Legend walked purposefully down the narrow "hall" of the triage area of Brockton General. On either side, curtains provided some modicum of privacy to the injured capes. However, unlike any Endbringer fight he'd seen (and he'd seen all but a handful), more than half the spaces were empty, the curtains drawn back and the beds untouched.

The normal statistics of a fight against Leviathan was one in four capes dead, with injuries easily topping fifty percent. On bad days, casualties topped fifty percent or more with injuries approaching seventy-five percent.

So far, they were looking at a ten percent casualty rate and twenty percent injures. All signs pointed back to one reason: Quintessence. Taylor Hebert. The Winslow Simurgh.

At the end of the hall, he reached the private rooms. These were mostly in service for the senior Protectorate heroes injured in the fight, such as Chevalier and Bastion. New Wave had two family members here, he was sad to note. Brandish stood outside the door, looking exhausted and filthy from the day's fight.

Legend didn't say anything. Instead, he just placed a hand on her shoulder. Brandish wasn't a touchy person, but she didn't move away from the touch.

"She saved my husband's life, you know," Brandish said. "And my niece and nephew both. She stabilized them enough for Panacea to restore them. She said she could heal their minds too. It's just hard to…"

Legend nodded, unsure what to say.

"She was found guilty _in absentia,_" Brandish continued. "The established rule is that any cape can appeal an _in absentia_ adverse ruling. I'm not going to let you send that girl to the Birdcage. Not after what she did for this city today."

Legend just nodded. "Remember that, then. Because she's going to need all the help she can get. Go, be with your family. You have my personal number, call if there's anything I can do for you."

Brandish wiped her eyes, nodded firmly, then stepped into the secured, guarded room. He nodded to the two PRT agents at either side.

The room was small. A single hospital bed sat in its middle, flanked by the various machines of health. An IV drip hung down into the arm of the slim child that occupied the bed.

The child was only fifteen. According to the court brief, she wouldn't turn sixteen for another month. And in the repose of ill-health, she looked even younger. She didn't have a classical beauty, but her features were striking. A wide mouth with thin lips with a slightly undersized nose. Her eyes were large, and with the dark rings of injury and exhaustion, made her look almost skeletal. Her hair was black, curly, and hung just above her shoulders.

Despite fifteen broken bones and internal injuries, she'd received almost no treatment, yet. A red tag hung from the frame of the bed, denoting her status as a villain. A villain who'd made a good living for several months healing people in Seattle.

The air in the corner of the room shimmered a moment before Eidolon appeared courtesy of a teleporting power. He held two large, grease-stained bags with a picture of a hefty African-American man on it holding a huge burger. The caption announced that "Chubs Does It Better!" With his other hand he levitated three separate drinks.

Eidolon wordlessly handed a bag over and Legend took one of the drinks before he pulled up one of the four rolling chairs that occupied the room. He lifted a hand and made a circling motion. Around the room, the walls briefly glowed.

Thus secured from eavesdroppers or intruders, Eidolon removed his mask to reveal heavy, ugly features coated in sweat.

"It's a sauna out there," he muttered. He put his bag of burgers on the edge of the bed, right next to Hebert's foot, and started pulling out his meal.

Legend pulled over the rolling lunch chart, grabbed a stool, and did the same.

Both looked up when the secured wall of the room fell into a pit of nothing, replaced instantly by what looked like a white, featureless hallway. Through the hallway walked Alexandria, her cape barely touching the floor behind her.

"You didn't wait?" she asked.

"Hungry." Eidolon's answer was more grunt than speech, but made the point well enough. "Got you extra jalapenos, the way you like it."

"Apology accepted." Alexandria too removed her visor, pulled up a cart, and ate at the other side of Hebert's bed, closer to Legend.

Legend found himself looking at the scar that ran over her left eye, and the gaping wound that used to hold it. It was a permanent reminder of all they lost.

"Brandish has already offered to represent her," Legend said around a bite of fries.

"She may have to," Becky said. "I just spent the past hour getting yelled at by the Attorney General, the New Hampshire governor's office, the state's representatives and senators, and the governor of Washington state personally. I've already received summons to testify before the Joint Committee on Parahuman Affairs. My civilian life is going to be busy for the foreseeable few months."

"Doesn't this girl have links to the Elite?" Eidolon asked. "Won't they help?"

With her mouth full, Alexandria just shook her head until she could speak. "I tried calling Entourage. The situation with the Elite is…fragile."

Legend sat up in concern. "What do you mean?"

"It turns out the reason we haven't seen or heard from Bastard Son is that Hebert killed him. He and Nonpareil both. Evidently Entourage was aware and tried to cover it up, but one of Elite's internal Thinkers caught on. Entourage is one of Agnes Court's darlings, but losing their most dangerous cape is a blow. Other governors are calling for Entourage's head. At the very least, Elite has formally cut ties with Quintessence. No help there."

"Damned," Legend muttered. "Any reason why Hebert would have done something like that?"

"He tried to assault her and her partner with Nonpareil's help," Alexandria said flatly. "She took exception to it."

The after-battle Chubs meal was a tradition going on thirteen years, now. Ever since Sydney, in fact. Chubs was Eidolon's favorite restaurant in Houston, and once the public learned that arguably the most powerful member of the Triumvirate went there after every Endbringer fight, the restaurant became a chain. They hadn't had to pay for the food since '99, when Chubs himself announced that any cape that fought an Endbringer could eat for free after the battle.

For the longest time, they didn't talk about the extraordinary day, or the extraordinary girl that was giving them such an extraordinary problem. Instead, they simply ate and basked in the relief that came from surviving another unwinnable fight.

Eidolon finished first by means of taking three bites at a time. He leaned back with a loud, satisfied belch, wiped the grease from his face and hands with a wetwipe (included), and gathered the trash into a bag. He then placed a hand on Hebert's bare ankle, wincing.

"Levi did a number on the girl," he said. "She's lucky to be alive."

"Will you heal her?" Legend asked.

Eidolon scowled. "I've exhausted my best healing powers. Until I get another booster…best I can do is give her metabolic augment."

Like Rebecca's eye, Eidolon's gradually weakening powers were one of those things they simply didn't discuss.

Alexandria, who in her civilian guise was Rebecca Costa-Brown served as Chief Director of the PRT, finished her hamburger far more daintily than Eidolon, though she too used the included wet wipe. She's just have to throw it up later, since her body didn't actually digest food any more, but she loved the flavor and enjoyed the tradition. Legend finished his last.

"So, I guess we should talk about the girl," Legend said. "What do we know?"

Becky leaned back on her stool, her legs crossed and her elbows on her knees as she studied Hebert. "We know from past efforts that she's a blind spot for most pre-cogs and Thinkers. Even ours."

Legend frowned. "Contessa can't see her? Why wasn't I told this?"

"She can see her, she just can't _predict_ her. She has to model around her, the same as she does the Endbringers, Eidolon, or Scion himself."

"Okay," Eidolon said with a shrug. "What about today?"

Becky took a deep breath, and almost smile. "She did everything I hoped she'd be able to do when I called Entourage to help her," Alexandria said. "From PRT drone and surveillance footage, she served as a trump for the entire theater. I could tell myself just from how coordinated the shielding and blasters were, but the footage is fairly dramatic."

"She was mastering people?" Legend asked, alarmed.

"Did you feel mastered? My own power makes me immune to master/stranger threats. No, she didn't directly control where anyone went. Rather, she unconsciously, or maybe subconsciously, directed us where we knew we had to be. She made reaction times better across the board. It seemed almost as if she was somehow extending her precognition we're only seen hints of to every single cape fighting. Not just capes, though. She affected hospital staff as well. When she was injured, the triage center basically ground to a halt before they established a new hierarchy, and even then it didn't work nearly as well."

"It would explain the low casualty rate," Legend said. "When's the last time we've ever had casualties at ten percent?"

"Never," Alexandria said. "Our best showing was the Simurgh attack in London. We managed to get out with eighteen percent casualties. And then only because we think the Simurgh achieved her objective in the first five minutes, and then spent the next hour just playing with us."

"You don't believe there was intent with Hebert's actions?" Legend asked.

"No," Alexandria said. "The footage I saw from the triage center was like watching a queen bee moving through the hive. The same thing happened in Portland against Overmind. She's doing what she needs to do, and everyone else moved out of her way or attended her as she needed."

"What does Contessa suggest?" Legend asked.

"That we let the trial proceed. That the full results from Nutcracker's investigation be made available to the court, including Shadow Stalker's role in her trigger, Miss Militia's slip of judgment with Hebert's father, Director Piggot's failure with the Wards, and Armsmaster's demotion. The public will realize that we've already punished those truly responsible.

"At the same time, we stress what Quintessence has actually done. The best thing we can do is get Ashwinder to testify in court. Or Horizon. Or any of her other patients. And if none of that sways the court, we then pressure the governor for a pardon. No matter what, we're not letting her go to the Birdcage."

"You'll take a public hit," Legend warned her. "After all, you approved the order."

"I've already got my people spinning it," Alexandria said. "Piggot has already resigned and left the city with a nice pension and a bonus to keep her mouth shut. We can throw her under as many busses as necessary."

"So, we're agreed?" Legend asked.

"Didn't think it was even a question," Eidolon said. "Hell, Exalt himself would say she was a good one for the protocol."

"Okay, let's suit up and get the press wheels moving," Legend said.

They secured their various masks, and Eidolon dropped his privacy power. The moment they did, Taylor Hebert simply disappeared. In her place, a humanoid creature appeared—a purple, four-limbed gorilla. It sat up in the bed and looked around before it saw who surrounded it.

"Holy shit!" the Gorilla said in a young woman's voice. "Wow, can I have your autographs?"

A second later, the gorilla simply faded away.

"Fuck," Alexandria cursed, speaking eloquently for all of them.


	26. Luminous Beings

A/N: Chap 25 got a lot of reviews. Thank you. I can't say I responded well since I have a bit of a cold this morning, but if I missed a question, my forum's a good place if you want a response. And now, with this chapter, we have the first overt elements of the crossover itself. This story is not just an alt-power Taylor, it is an actual crossover.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Luminous Beings**

Taylor opened her eyes, stretched her arms luxuriously over her head, and curled her legs up behind her as she twisted her back. Within the cocoon of blankets, she felt luxuriously warm and safe. Red sunlight shown through the shades, making the white felt of her clan posters glow.

A quick search of her chrono revealed what the sunlight already proved—that it was seven hours past evening meridian. She just sat up in her bed when the door opened and the family droid rolled in on it's twin tracked wheels. Spindly arms held a tray, upon which she could see a steaming bowl of tikit meal sweetened with honey and cane crystal, a glass of blue milk, and half a jijibulb.

"Happy waking, Young Miss," the droid said. "Your mother desired you to break the evening fast in your room today. She is meeting with an Outworlder."

"Okay, Mufed," Taylor said easily. She sat up and let the droid place the tray across her lap. It then held a thumb-sized data crystal for her to see before placing it on the edge of the tray.

"Today's lessons," the droid continued. "Today you shall be learning about high energy particle physics, the epic Poem _Cinnegariade_ by Endobyss the Lesser, which celebrated and described the Unification of the Empress Teta Star System that helped set the foundation for the first Galactic Republic, and finally you will learn about fall of the Third Republic and the Great Unification. There shall be tests upon all three subjects this afternoon, so I expect you to actually absorb the information."

"The Neuralizer gives me a headache," Taylor wined.

"And you think your head will fare better ignoring mistress's orders?"

Taylor couldn't help but shudder in horror. "The _Cinnegariade_, though_?_ It has five million lines!"

"And every one is in dactyl hexameter, and considered one the greatest epics in the Tetan language, which as you should know is one of the core founding languages of modern Galactic Basic. Mistress will know if you do not learn it all."

"Fine." She sullenly started to eat her sweet, chewy tikit meal. Mufed, which she'd named from the acronym of Multi-Use Family Education Droid, rolled over to her wardrobe and withdrew her clothes of the day.

When her meal was done, she put the tray to the side and slipped her holo link on to her wrist. "Mufed, why does mother block my holonet access?"

The droid rolled back to her bed. "She worries, Young Mistress. The disturbances on the Eastern Continent have grown worse, and she fears that the clan may be forced to flee the planet."

Taylor couldn't help but stare. "Flee Dathomir? But…but…where would we go?"

The door opened. Taylor watched as her mother walked in, tall and stately and strong as only a Dathomiri clan leader could be. Her pale skin glistened with the various tattoos of her life—there the sigil of her taking a male for bedding the first time; there for her ascension to clan leader. There, to mark Taylor's birth. Her arms bore the history of her life, and she bared them proudly. Her pure white hair was done in a single braid that hung from the back of her otherwise shaven head, where her scalp bore the sigils of the Singing Crystal Cave Clan.

When Taylor reached puberty, she too would take those tattoos.

And yet, as she studied her mother's large, glistening blue eyes, she felt disconcerted. Her mother stood stiffly. "MUFED, leave us."

The droid nodded its head before leaving.

"Mother, are you well?" Taylor asked, fearing that her mother was upset with her for some reason.

"We have a visitor," she said. "Dress, quickly. Your lessons will wait."

Taylor did as she was told; there was no other choice when her mother gave her a command. She slipped out of her sleeping clothes, changed her underthings, and after attending to her morning toilet, pulled on her day dress and shoes. Her mother sat her down in the mirror and began to braid her own long, white hair.

Taylor frowned for a moment.

"What is it, my daughter?"

"I don't know, mother. A feeling. As if my hair were wrong somehow. Perhaps a dream?"

"Perhaps."

When the braid was done, Taylor felt confused by her mother's pensive expression. She remained behind Taylor at the vanity, hands on her shoulders. "Mother?"

"They will not take you," her mother said, as if speaking to another. "They will not."

"Who, mother?"

"Come. The Grand Matriarch has insisted on this foolishness. Let's not prolong it further than necessary."

They left Taylor's room and entered the main dome of their mountain home. Instead of heading to their meeting space, however, her mother led her to the patio. Taylor did not mind, though she was curious why they would not meet guests in the guestroom.

The patio was her favorite part of the house. It thrust out from the rock of the mountainside, with a single arhsir tree rising resplendent from its center. The walls that framed the back of the patio in a circle writhed with blue, wormlike vines, all thriving for every little bit of energy they could get from Dathomir's ancient red sun.

A brisk morning wind blew, making the thick, fleshing blue leaves of the tree rustle even as they unfolded and grasped at the light of the sun. Beyond the balcony, overflowing the Singing Crystal Cave valley, the capital city greeted the sun with the pealing of bells and singing of the Crystal Matins. If she listened hard enough, she could just make out the matrons, calling for all to share in the song.

The peace and beauty of the morning, though, shattered when she felt something to her left, sitting quietly on the very bench Taylor herself loved to sit on to read or listen to music. An ancient woman sat there. She was human, though one as thin as a Dathomiri. It was her skin which marked her apart. The Dathomiri's skin was white, like the salt plains of Ascarta or like bone. This woman's skin was brown, like the thick bark of the Ahrsir tree or the soil around them.

She wore black pants in the human style, but a white blouse that hung loosely on her thin frame. Over all she wore a luxurious gray robe cinched at the waist. Her shaven head gleamed in the morning light. For all her dark skin, though, Taylor could feel something almost like heat coming off the woman. It warmed her more even than their sun, and she found herself drifting to the woman.

Until, that is, she spotted the lightsaber hanging from the woman's waist. This was why they met outside. Her mother would not allow any outworlder into their home, even as a guest, if she could at all control it.

Her unconscious draw toward the woman stalled, while her mother's grip on her shoulders tightened. Her caution seemed to amuse the woman, judging by her dry chuckle.

"What do you fear from me, child?"

Her voice sounded as ancient as the wind through the leaves above their heads. Dry and hollow, but somehow eternal.

"My mother teaches that Outworlders bring trouble from beyond into our home."

"Sometimes that is true," the ancient human said without moving. "But sometimes Outworlders bring gifts, of knowledge or things. Sometimes Outworlders bring opportunity as well as trouble. If you never open the door for fear of the one, you suffer the loss of the other."

"Who are you?"

"You may call me Denaan."

Taylor tried the odd-sounding name on her lips. "You're very old."

"Indeed, I am," Denaan agreed. "I am so old that once upon a time I called myself a Jedi. Do you know how old that would make me?"

It was difficult for Taylor to realize just how ancient the woman was. "The last Jedi was three hundred years ago, before the Great Unification."

The woman nodded. She moved slowly, but she was so small that rather than seem ponderous, Taylor thought the slow movements were merely conservative, in the same way the ahsir tree curled up its leaves and went still at night.

"Three hundred years ago. I was not even your mother's age when the Bendu came and revealed the Journal of the Whills to both Jedi and Sith. I was one who fought against his teachings at first. I have learned much since then, though if I am honest I have forgotten even more. I am quite old, you see."

"I didn't think humans lived so long."

"I am human, that is true, child. But I am also Bendu. So long as I can maintain the balance of the Force within my soul, and the balance of life and death within my body, time touches me gently. Even so, my end will come, just as this world will end, and the galaxy beyond. Before I end, however, I wish to see the vergence which brought me to this world. Come, child, come closer."

Taylor looked up at her mother, who with seeming effort released her shoulders. Hesitantly, Taylor walked toward the ancient Bendu monk.

"Oh, child, I am no monk," the woman said.

"You…I…I only thought that."

"All thoughts are bare in the Force for those who can hear. You think I look like a shriveled old tree. You think I am a monk, never having bedded a mate or delivered a child to the stars. While the former is true enough, the latter is not. The most ancient Dai-Bendu were indeed monks. But those Bendu living today are not. I for one bonded another Bendu, and between us delivered four wonderful children. They in turn bonded, and delivered children, who then bonded and delivered more. After so many centuries my descendants could fill a space cruiser. I know bonding is not your people's way, but rest assured the Bendu love and hate like any other. What makes us unique is that we learn to balance one against the other, so that in time we can find peace with both."

As the woman spoke, her voice growing ever softer, Taylor found herself drifting closer. Before she realized it, she stood mere centimeters from the ancient human. The Bendu lifted one gnarled, deeply-veined hand and simply let it hang by the side of Taylor's face.

"Such lovely eyes you have, my child," the old woman whispered. "I can only imagine what wonders those eyes will behold. I weep at the pain you will feel, and exult in the joys and triumphs you will experience. And I…I am in awe of what you will accomplish before you, too, end."

She let her hand drop. Taylor backed up a step as the old woman seemed almost to flow to her feet, as if the air itself lifted her. "I would speak with your honored mother, child. Will you wait out here for us?"

Taylor could only nod. Despite Denaan's obvious age and seemingly frail form, she glided without effort to her mother. Despite being an Outworlder—despite being human—mother said nothing as the the two said nothing as they walked into the house.

_So much for the no Outworlders rule_.

Though she knew it would anger her mother immensely, there was not even a second where Taylor contemplated remaining ignorant of what just happened. Instead, she scrambled up the walls out of the patio using the vines as a ladder until she reached the rocky soil of the mountain that held their home. She found the main vent and laid down on the ground to better hear what the two adults were saying.

"…seed of the infected." The ancient woman's voice slithered up the pipe like a serpent. "With sufficient trauma, the seed will activate and she will become another of the invader's agents."

"You think I do not know this, Bendu?" Her mother sounded angry, but also scared. "Why else would I pull her out of her school? It is said those infected can go their whole lives without activating the seeds."

"Dathomir will be dead within the month," Denaan said. "The invader's cycles have accelerated since we began the pogroms. I can sense four on this world alone. I'm sorry, Matriarch, but the Republic cannot allow four invaders to propagate from this world. The leviathans will be destroyed, even if Dathomi is destroyed with it."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because your daughter is a Vergence in the Force. She is a living nexus. Her potential power is beyond measure. Perhaps she alone is why the leviathan invaders came to this world. Regardless, infected or not, the Force tells me she must be trained."

"She is my only daughter. She is to be clan matriarch after I return to the soil! You cannot have her."

"My dearest child, there will be no soil to…no." The ancient Bendu sighed, and with the sound came great sadness. "It has already begun."

Taylor had no idea what they were talking about. Seeds? Infected? But that ceased to matter. She sat up when she could hear the hint of a new song that was not the Crystal Matins. The sun was already too high up for matins regardless. This new song dragged her back down the mountain side, using the many ahrsir trees to control her descent, until she clambered down the fleshy vines to the flagstones of the patio.

She drifted to the rail of the balcony overlooking the valley below. In the distance, a glowing figure hung over the city, a figure that was not there just moments ago. Just as she found herself drawn to the ancient human, Taylor drifted like a banded moth to a flame, her jaws parted as she struggled to hear the song just on the verge of her senses. If she could only hear it, she would know so much!

The air trembled; the wind fell still and silent, as if the whole of Dathomir listened to that brilliant song. Only the rail stopped Taylor from walking off the edge of the patio and the hundred meter drop below to the foothills below their home, where the lesser members of the clan hierarchy lived.

She knew all those below her had to be listening. The need to hear and understand the song overwhelmed every part of her being, until all that was left was Taylor and the _need_. Around her, the vast valley and the lavender sky and the great daggers that appear like knives in the heavens were lost to her perceptions. Her eyes thrummed and her head ached. Her knees trembled and her breath caught deep in her throat as her childish will screamed out with the need to hear, and to understand.

Her body filled with a terrible, wonderful heat. It felt as if somehow the braziers of the clan cave burned in her chest, the flames licking through her veins to fill every part of her. The agonizing ecstasy of this heat surged up into her mind. She laughed; she screamed. The rush of the heat burned away the barriers of her mind.

Behind her, she could sense her mother's terror. She sensed the ancient Bendu's own alarm, but also a determination. She could sense all the insects and creatures in the mountains around her. She could feel the ecstasy and terror of her sisters below.

With this new understanding—with this knew perception—Taylor turned the whole of her mind toward the floating angel. She could see how parts of the city broke into rubble under the silver glow of its passage. The rubble rose up around it like an asteroid field, somehow blocking the heavy bolts of the various laser cannons that were firing from the dozens of defensive positions that framed the valley.

It was with her mind, though, that she reached out the hardest. Surely now she could hear the song. Surely, now, she would understand…

_**PROPOSAL**__._

_Intent beyond words, violence made with sound and energy crashes through a dying gray world, a clump of failing matter piercing the dimensions and yet equally empty of everything in each, save for the myriad crystal worms that feed upon it._

_**EVOLUTION. CONFLICT. VARIATION.**_

_**FAILURE. SELF-DESTRUCTION.**_

_She weeps as the worms turn on each other, consuming and feeding and strengthening themselves off the blood of their brethren, until only two remain on a world utterly depleted of all food; all energy. _

_The two beings defy description; they defy understanding. They are feral, basic; they are advanced to being godlike. They wield divine power and yet have the drive only to live at all cost like the most basic of animals. They shape themselves across dimensions for one task. By the time the world that saw their birth eons ago dies, shattering not just in one dimension, but in every possible permutation like mirrors reflecting Armageddon, over and over again, the two have woven their way through the fabric of reality itself._

_With the death of the world their species is reborn. The galaxy around them shudders. _

_**DESTINATION.**_

_**VARIATION.**_

_**EVOLUTION..**_

_**CONFLICT.**_

_**VICTORY.**_

Taylor understood. And the knowledge terrified her into paralysis. She could only stand and watch as a thick beam of green light lanced down through the clouds overhead from one of the daggers she now realized must be Republic cruisers. The beam seared away the clouds themselves, only to stop just above the head of the floating, silver angel.

The valley darkened against the impossible energies unleashed.

A second beam lanced down from a second dagger in the heavens. Combined with the first, it was too much even for the ever-hungering god. The beams lashed through the angel and into the valley floor. Taylor stumbled backward as her world died before her eyes. The explosion was beyond her compression, shattering the crust of the planet and throwing up untold billions of tons of rock in a wall that rolled toward her.

The air in front of her turned an opaque blue as the first shockwaves hit the house shields. Beyond the patio, she witnessed trees burst into flame before slamming flat against the mountain. Every particle of loose sand or vegetation was either burned away or blasted away in streaking clouds, leaving Taylor untouched by the family ahrsir tree.

Suddenly the shields failed.

Taylor tried to scream, but the heat stole her breath from her lungs as it blasted her backward. She could sense her mother at the door, reaching for her in horror, only for the fire to take her too. Abruptly Taylor understood, in that moment, that she was going to die with her planet.

Then she felt a gentle, thin arm around her waist. She felt an ancient mind brush against her own. _Your destiny does not end here, my child._

They left the house, emerging in the high mountain courtyard that framed the other houses of the various clan matriarchs. Hovering just over the central fountain was a ship, as large as her house but no larger, with a pair of stabilizing fins horizontal to the ground. To her shock, she and the Bendu both floated toward an open ramp. Despite the fire burning around them, the heat did not touch her while in the Bendu's arms. She blinked teary eyes and saw the fire licking at them only inches away, somehow held back by the Bendu's great power.

Then they were inside the ship. Cool air felt icy against her burns. She wept from the pain, and from the horror and death she felt from her mother below, and the wall of death that even at that moment swept toward them.

The Bendu levitated her through the ship, past startled or terrified men and women of many races, until they reached a small room with a spindly droid that had too many appendages.

"Prepare a Bacta bath, GH-16," the Bendu said firmly.

"Yes, Master."

Taylor closed her eyes as the Bendu lowered her gently into a thick gel that, rather than feel icy cold, instead felt warm and soothing, like her mother's arms. It instantly began easing the agony of her burns.

More than that, she felt a familiar, gentle heat flowing once again through her veins. Where the heat passed, the pain diminished to nothing. She opened her eyes and saw the ancient Bendu master standing over her, her hands hovering just over her chest.

Between the gel and the ancient master, Taylor was healed of her burns in minutes. Invisible hands as gentle as her mother's lifted her from the bath. They gently peeled away the burned, ruined rags of her clothing. A soft, moist towel washed the gel away from her body, and a simple robe was draped over her shoulders.

"Come, child," the Bendu said. She held out an ancient hand. Rather than the tree bark it looked like, her hand felt soft and gentle, save for a ridge of calluses at the base of her wrinkled fingers. Taylor followed on bare feet through the thin carpet of the ship.

The crew, half human and half near-human, rushed about doing their various tasks as she and the old woman reached what looked like the cockpit of the ship.

The Bendu sat in a chair in the back of the six-seat space, and with a gentle motion of her hand floated Taylor to her lap. Thin, strong arms wrapped around her stomach.

"It is a terrible thing we see, child," the Bendu whispered into her ear. "Losses that make your heart ache and eyes weep."

Outside the windows of the ship, Taylor saw the stars growing brighter as the lavender sky grew thinner. Beyond, she saw an angel that defied description. The creature looked Dathomiri, nude and perfect and the size of the mountain she grew up in. But in her mind, she saw more. She saw a mass of shards—tentacles made of millions of thoughts and hopes and dreams—reaching from the core of the exploding planet to the back of this strange apparition's head.

Dozens of massive ships faced the angel, lashing at it with thick beams of green energy that could crack planets in half. Beyond those massive ships, smaller ones pulsed with artificial fields of gravity and other exotic energies that transcended universes and dimensions, penetrating through the very weave of creation to ensure that the entities could not escape.

The ships paid a terrible price. Even as Taylor watched, one of the massive ships crumbled in on itself, as if a moon-sized hand gripped it until it died. She could feel thousands of minds snuffed out in an instant. The other ships continued firing their weapons. They had no choice. Taylor understood now, even if she could never find words to explain it.

The entities had to destroy worlds to live. It was all they were, and all they could do. To not destroy; to not sow their shards among the people of the world to foment conflict and rage and death until they consumed the world entirely, was a violation of everything they were. If they did not kill, they themselves would die.

She glanced to the edge of the view screen and watched as Dathomir died. The great beams of death did not just strike the Crystal Cave valley. The southern continent was a mass of black cloud and fire projecting its entrails out into orbit. Similar plumes shot so high off the world that they too made orbit.

Even as she watched, a new ship emerged from hyperspace to loom over the viewscreen of the Bendu's ship, larger even than those which cracked the planet. Like the others it was dagger shaped—its hull white and blue trimmed and glistening brightly under the red light of the Dathomiri star.

"Mother," Taylor whispered, seconds before a massive, multi-beam pulse of green light lashed out.

All the other ships broke off their attacks and spun to flee the death of the world. The giant Dathomiri avatar struck against the fleeing ships, easily destroying two of the city-sized vessels. But it was too late. The massive, destructive beam obliterated the planet. In her mind, Taylor felt an odd echo, like mirror images, as the graviton generators surrounding the world reflected the destructive energies down through the various dimensional incarnations of the planet, until every last, possible trace of Dathomir, and the four entities which had fed upon its people, were gone.

She squirmed around on the Bendu's lap until she could bury her face in the ancient woman's neck and wept bitter, pained tears.

"In every end, there is a beginning," the Bendu whispered gently into the ear. "This is not your end, child. This is only your beginning."

* * *

*A/N-In SW Legends, the Dathomiri were actually humans descended from the crashed ship of former Jedi, so they were all Force-sensitive. The Nightsisters were just one clan of many. In newer cannon, of course, we have Ventress and Dooku's genocide. I've borrowed from both, so in this story, the Nightsisters were just _one_ clan of Dathomiri, while others remained and survived. And don't worry, this is all happening while Taylor's unconscious. I'm not going to have multiple chapters with her in the past. Only just enough to establish why things are the way they are.

This snippet takes place roughly 300+ years _after_ Rise of Skywalker.


	27. Unmasked

A/N: A few folks voiced discontent with the last chapter. To be clear, when I say in the blurb that this is a Worm/Star Wars crossover, what I mean is that this is a Worm/Star Wars Crossover. It's not an alt-power fic, it's an actual crossover. Past events in the SW 'verse directly impact future events in this story, as will be shown as the story progress.

Because of my somewhat impassioned distaste for TLJ Disney movie, some reviewers also attempt to take me to task for using Disney canon, while not realizing that pretty much the entire plot, and even the star destroyers of TROS, were taken wholesale from the 1991 Dark Empire comic book series. So when I talk about ships with planet-killing lasers, I'm talking about ships similar to _The Eclipse_ from Dark Empire. Not that it really matters, I suppose.

So, another chapter. Half is a "reaction" chapter from Yuki's POV to show what's happening as a result of Taylor's unmasking, and the second is the introduction of a familiar, important character and how her power works with Taylor's.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Unmasked**

Yuki Ishikawa sat cross legged before a table crowded with the various components of a lightsaber. The most important and valuable were the thumb-sized diamond and the equally large sapphire that Taylor made for her.

A detailed diagram showed her exactly how everything went together. The really hard part wasn't the diagrams—but putting the blade together without using her hands. A single fingerprint on the focusing crystals or the energizer coils could cause the blade to short or even explode.

According to everything Taylor told her, she needed to be calm and collected while assembling her lightsaber. It was a meticulous task, and one that was supposed to be done only when her mind was empty of everything but the Force.

Thus, sitting in her pajamas in her bedroom in the early hours of the morning, streaming tears and blowing snot into yet another tissue was definitely not the way she was supposed to approach this. The fact was, though, that she had to have something to concentrate on besides thinking about Taylor.

Though it hurt her to even imagine it, a small corner of her mind wondered if her lover would come back. It wasn't even that she feared Taylor would die fighting Leviathan. No, what bothered her the most was that Taylor left her to fight it in the first place. That she left the home they built together to go back to the city which rejected her.

Her phone lay on the edge of the table, hatefully silent. She cried herself into a fitful sleep while staring at it the previous night and woke up before dawn doing the same. She could have turned on the television for news, but the idea of seeing Taylor's name scroll across the screen with the rest of the casualties was just too much to bear.

So, when she accepted that sleep was not coming and Taylor wasn't calling, she looked for something that would take her mind off their last fight, and the gaping hole in the home that was far, far too big for Yuki alone.

Which brought her to the table, with all the components laid out for her lightsaber.

"I can do this," she assured herself. "For Taylor. She'll be so proud of me, if I can just…prove that I'm worthy of her."

For Taylor, the telekinesis of the Force came easily, like breathing. Yuki knew that was because the Force was her parahuman power, whereas her own power was a breaker state and she just happened to be Force sensitive as well. So what Taylor could do without concentration took Yuki several minutes of meditation.

But when she opened her eyes, she saw the first components of the saber floating in the air.

"For Taylor," she whispered again as she began assembling the pieces. Rather than have them all float at the same time and come together in minutes like Taylor did with both of hers, Yuki took her time and levitated only those parts she needed, when she needed them.

It took an hour, but when she was done, an intact lightsaber floated in the air before her. She reached out a hand and gripped the hilt. Taylor had designed it for her particular grip, so the handle was narrower than Taylor's, which fit more easily into Yuki's far smaller hands. Her breath caught in her throat when she thumbed the activation and a scintillating blue beam emerged.

It wasn't as long as Taylor's, but then again neither was Yuki's reach. She didn't trust in her abilities enough for an internal toggle, so she rotated the dial at the base of her saber she installed instead, turning the blade from blue to it's white training mode.

Her phone range, startling her so badly she yelped and dropped her newly completed lightsaber. Fortunately, the safety feature had it deactivate, but not before the sun blade hit the table and then bounced back to stun her bare knee before falling to the floor.

"Shit fuck!" The phone range again. "Oh God, Taylor!"

She scrambled to her feet and reached for the phone. All of Taylor's training seemed to go out the door as she clumsily sent the phone flying from the edge of the table to the floor. She rushed after it and quickly entered her code.

"Taylor! Are you okay?"

It wasn't Taylor. "_Yurei_,_ this is Entourage. I need you to turn on the television. It's important."_

Frowning in frustration, Yuki did as she was asked. They only had local channels, but with the antenna Taylor set up the signal was perfectly clear, and the morning hour meant all the networks were on the morning news shows. And those new programs seemed to be featuring Taylor's face dead center in the screen as if she were only a few feet away. Yuki felt her heart skip when she saw blood flowing from Taylor's mouth, nose and ears. Her hair was plastered away from her forehead by water and her eyes closed and badly bruised. A large, armored man with one arm holding a weird spear stood over her, shouting something.

"…_Hebert. For more, we go to correspondent, Deborah Karr. Deborah_?"

"_Thank you, Dean. Yes, the revelation at the end of yesterday's dramatic Enbringer fight in Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, that Taylor Hebert, the so called 'Winslow Simurgh' was not only living freely in Seattle, but in fact received a PRT-issued healing license under the cape name 'Quintessence' has spawned questions from several lawmakers. _

_Chuck Blumenthal, Chairman of the Joint Parahuman Affairs Committee, summoned Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown to Testify before the committee on what the Seattle PRT knew regarding Hebert's presence in Seattle, and just how much of a danger she presented to the citizens there._"

Click.

"…_just receiving word that Taylor Hebert is now considered the primary suspect in what local authorities have called the Industrial West Massacre. Warning, the following footage may include graphic images_."

An attractive Asian woman walked along a cracked, broken cement shelf next to a mass of almost unidentifiable, crushed metal. "_This piece of twisted steel is the only remaining sign of the carnage that occurred here nearly four months ago_…"

Yuki completely forgot about the phone and almost dropped it when Entourage called. "_Yuki, are you there_?"

It took effort for her to speak. "Yeah."

"_Okay, listen. I don't know how, but somehow the Elite governors discovered the truth about Bastard Son. I've been summoned before the governors. I don't think they're going to kill me, but…it's going to be bad. Yuki, Estrella is going to have to drop you and Taylor as clients."_

"What…what does that mean?"

"_It means you need to grab as much cash as you can and get out. Go to the Protectorate for shelter."_

"But my house…Taylor…"

"_Yurei, do you remember Obsidian? He's on his way. If he catches you there, he's going to have to kill you. He's on his way right now, Yuki."_

"Do you…do you know where Taylor is?"

"_My sources say she disappeared from Protectorate custody. I don't think she escaped, I think another group snatched her. She's probably still in Brockton Bay. Hurry, Yuki. You don't have much time." _

The line went dead. Yuki stared at the phone for a long moment before everything hit her.

"Oh fuck!"

She spun around and ran toward their closet. She dressed with shaking hands in normal clothes, though she made to pull on her Yurei tights just in case. She stuffed two of her costumes into the bug-out bag Taylor insisted they keep ready. She paused only long enough to place her hand to the safe for the biometric reading and say the passcode.

"Taylor Tastes Sweet."

The safe popped open and she took the rest of their cash out and put it in the backpack as well. It was one of their original backpacks and held plenty.

She was out the door toward the stairs when she cursed, ran back in to grab the phone she'd dropped on the floor. A second later she ran back in again and stared at the lightsaber, which rested right where she dropped it. She took a deep breath, held out her hand, and with concentration it flew into her palm.

Their new home was so big! Yuki ran down the stairs for the third time as fast as she could, darting through the open kitchen and living area toward the garage. She paused only long enough to shut everything down, even the furnaces which powered the home, before she ran into the garage. She hit the garage door opener, but then stared when it didn't work.

Right, she turned off the power.

She put the backpack in the car then ran to open the door manually. It slid up, and there was Obsidian. She only had a moment to scream before a massive, muscular hand gripped her throat and lifted her easily off the ground.

"Sorry 'bout this," the massive brute cape said. "Blue Blood said if I didn't kill you, he'd kill my dad. I gotta, you know?"

The worse thing about it was that Yuki believed him. He sounded more than just upset, he sounded anguished. She went ghost.

Obsidian had never seen her use her breaker state and stared in confusion when she dropped through his hand to the floor. Her outer clothes fluttered to the ground around her as she scrambled back to the car.

She went solid long enough to summon the blade to her hand before igniting it. The white blade lit the garage and immediately drew Obsidian's eyes.

"There you are. Don't make this hard, girl. I promise I'll make it quick."

"I won't."

He lunged toward her. Yuki drew heavily on Taylor's training and rolled under his grasping hand, emerging into a kneeling position from which she swiped the back of his knee.

She saw a hint of red glow just under the fabric of his slacks, but otherwise it didn't even bend his leg. He, on the other hand, swung a fist awkwardly down toward her. She ducked her head and raised her shoulder, which probably saved her life. The blow lifted her screaming off the ground and sent her flying out of the garage onto the driveway of their home.

She rolled to her feet, only to kneel back down as she lost feeling in her right shoulder so badly she almost dropped her saber. She switched to her left, not quite as sure but thankful for the fact that Taylor trained her with both hands, and toggled it from white to blue.

"Please, let me just leave!" Her voice cracked with fear. Taylor would have been so disappointed in her. "Please!"

"I can't," Obsidian said. He lunged toward her again—huge steps carrying his huge frame with a huge set of hands.

Screaming, Yuki swung her lightsaber as hard as she could, only to come up short.

He'd caught the blade. She'd seen Taylor cut through almost anything with sabers, but somehow Obsidian caught it in his bare hand. It was affecting him, though. His normally pitch-black skin took on a reddish glow in the hand which held the blade.

The glow spread quickly up his arms, across his shoulders and up over his bald scalp, until even his eyes took on a red glow.

"Bad idea," he said. His deep voice took on an electrical tingle.

Yuki wasn't as attuned to the Force as Taylor, but in that instant she knew she was about to die.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a horrid heat blast so close to her head her hair burned. A heartbeat later her blade turned off and fell to the ground from numb fingers. She opened her eyes and saw Obsidian staring down at her, his face suddenly blank.

She turned over her left shoulder and saw a deep, smoking gouge in the pavement Agnes Court made for them. When she looked back, the massive brute stumbled back to the car and leaned against the hood. She noticed how the compact dropped under his weight.

Wincing at the pain in her shoulder, Yuki picked her saber back up until she stood in front of him.

"Why?"

When he returned her gaze, she saw a tear running down his cheek. "Nonpareil did the same fucking thing to my dad, when I was a kid. Younger than you. Made him choose. Me, or mom. He chose." He shook his head. "Fuck that shit. I'm not gonna fucking murder a girl to protect my old man. They shouldn'a even asked that shit. They can fucking kill me, I don't…"

With her one good arm, she threw herself onto him, wrapping her arm around his thick neck and her legs around his waist to kiss him on the lips. They were hard and strong, completely unlike Taylor's. He was so big, at least two feet taller than her. She slid back away and wiped her eyes.

"Thank you. I'm gonna go save Quintessence now. And when we get back we'll save you too, if we have to."

"I'm a Brute 8," Obsidian said. "I don't need saving."

"Everyone does," Yuki assured him with a sad smile. She leaned over to pick up her discarded clothes, and then she ran into the car.

He didn't say anything else as she climbed in and drove away. She avoided the deep gouge in her driveway. The last she saw of him, he was closing the garage door.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Yuki was young, but she had money and a car. More importantly, she had the will. She drove throughout the day, stopping only when the previous night's lack of sleep and fifteen hours of driving made it hard for her to focus. She found a depressing little motel in a tiny town in Montana. The clerk didn't even bat an eye when she put the hundred dollar bill on the counter.

She took a much-needed shower, not even thinking twice about the gritty water and the little sand particles the water left in the tub. She threw on one of Taylor's shirts, which hung easily to her thighs, and sat in the cramped little hotel room on a bed that smelled strongly of dust and cigarette smoke.

The one saving grace was that the hotel had cable. Which meant news networks.

Which meant that Yuki sat on her bed eating bad Chinese take-out made by a Mexican kid her age while drinking soda and watching everything she could about her lover, and everything else around it.

"…_of course Estrella didn't know who she was,"_ Gabriella Vargas said in answer to a question posted to her. The beautiful young CEO stood in front of a microphone, while behind her the Estrella logo, with a star shooting over a flat horizon, gave the impression of a formal news room. She looked thinner and…haunted? "_Quintessence came to us for startup money because she wanted to heal—to help rather than fight. And since the dehumanizing NEPEA-5 was amended under the Stansfield Parahuman Commerce Act, we had a means to help her accomplish her dream."_

"_Ms. Vargas, Chad Dennings Atlanta News Network. What is your reaction to the news from the Elite that Quintessence is the lead suspect in the Bastard Son murder_?"

"_I'd say one doesn't 'murder' a cape like Bastard Son. If he died, he did so while in the act of earning his name. Make no mistake, if Quintessence killed him, then she must have had good reason. And given the fact that Bastard Son has over a hundred murders and three times as many sexual assaults to his name, it shouldn't be hard to imagine what that cause could be._"

"_You're defending her_?"

"_I know her, Chad. She only wanted to help people. Of course, Estrella cannot maintain our relationship with her, and I think that's a tragedy. But she was not a cold-blooded killer. If she killed Bastard Son, I promise you she had cause. But only time and evidence will show for sure_."

Yuki thumbed the remote. _Click._

Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown looked regal and unruffled in her striped pant suit and matching jacket as members of the Joint Committee on Parahuman Affairs took turns lambasting the PRT for its failure to capture Taylor Hebert, and for placing the people of Seattle in danger. They might as well have been yelling at drying paint for all the impact their words had on the iconic woman.

"…_killed over a hundred and twenty people now! Students from Winslow High school are still undergoing counseling. And yet your organization let this…monster walk around free in an American city as if she were a hero? What do you have to say for yourself_!" the Chairman finally shouted, having finished what must have been an impressive monologue.

Costa-Brown took a calm sip of water, then moved her microphone slightly closer so that she would not have to lean. "_Adele Farooqi_."

The Chairman, having worked with Costa-Brown for years, should have known better. "_Excuse me_?"

"_Katrina Spasik. Adrianne Haney. Regina Nguyen. Alexandria Antolovic. Angela Gutierrez. Elaine Lemieux_…."

"_Director, I'm almost afraid to ask, but what are you doing_?" the Chairman demanded.

"_These, Chairmen, are the names of some of the ninety-seven teenagers Taylor Hebert saved when she committed your so-called Industrial West massacre. What the reports were silent on, at the request of both the Justice and State departments, was that all of the people Ms. Hebert killed were Russian special forces working under a known Russian parahuman gang engaged in sexual slavery on American soil against American citizens. _

"_This gang managed to abduct Ms. Hebert, who, in case I need to remind anyone, is fifteen. She engaged both the Saltykoya Bravta and almost a hundred of their soldiers. By doing so, she saved over a hundred American teenagers from a life worse than hell. In fact, we have reason to believe every death at her hands after her escape was an act of self-defense or otherwise justified."_

Blumenthal stared at her, mouth agape. "_Justified? You call what she did at Winslow justified_? _Are you justifying the cold-blooded murder of Miss Militia?"_

"_Winslow was a trigger event, Senator. It is highly unlikely that Ms. Hebert was even aware of what was happening at the time. And it is even more unlikely she was in her right mind when she killed Miss Militia. I believe that once all the facts that the Brockton Bay PRT director failed to release are made public, you might agree. This is especially pertinent when you consider that rather than using her considerable power to do further harm to her fellow citizens, she chose instead to heal."_

"_Do I understand this right_?" The Chairman cleared his throat. "_Are you actually defending this…this murderer? Might I remind you, Director, that you personally approved her incarceration into the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center_?"

"_Mr. Chairmen, ladies and gentlemen of the committee, let me be clear. I and the other PRT directors who work under me are often forced to make snap decisions based on the information, facts and circumstances available at the time. Based on the facts and circumstances that were presented to me on January 10th of this year, I approved the order permanently incarcerating a 15-year-old girl to what can honestly be described as a lifetime of hell. It was a decision I hated to make, as everyone involved hated it as well. The Brockton Bay PRT director was so upset over having to make the recommendation she resigned shortly after. _

"_However, when Hebert was sighted in Seattle, I ordered an internal investigation by my own team that revealed a great deal that was _not_ presented to me. Based on those additional facts and circumstances available to me now, I would most definitely not make that same decision_."

The chairman stared long and hard.

"_Which makes that point rather academic, Chief Director, given that Ms. Hebert has chosen to flee. No matter how you spin it, Taylor Hebert is a murderer. She is a threat to this country. And the fact that you refuse to see it makes me question your fitness for your role. Rest assured, even if it is the last thing I do, I will make sure Taylor Hebert pays for her crimes!"_

Yuki spilled some of her Sesame Chicken on the bed's duvet when her phone rang. "Damn it." She looked before sighing.

"Yeah?"

"_How are you?"_ Entourage sounded as tired as Yuki felt.

"Fine. You looked really pretty on television."

"_Thank you. It was all staged, the camera never panned down to show I was in a wheelchair."_

"Wheelchair?"

"_There was a price to pay, Yuki. Broken kneecaps are better than a broken neck. Those reporters were ours. We have to get out in front of this before it runs us over. I was calling with two things. I told Agnes what happened. Everything. And I told her…that I was the one who urged Taylor not to let Bastard Son live."_

"But Obsidian…

"_Chose not to hurt you, even if it meant his dad's life. That's courage, Yuki. The Elite has an internal policy for conflicts like these, even for deaths. I agreed to cover the penalties for Bastard Son and Nonpareil for you, Taylor and Obsidian. Plus, my own penalties. But they also recognized that we were right—if Bastard Son recovered, he would have killed you. The Elite might technically be villains, but even villains believe in self-defense. They won't go after you or Taylor."_

"Why does that matter?"

"_Because I know who has her. I have a contact in the Protectorate. The same one that told me about Taylor in the first place. Taylor's still in Brockton Bay. She's being held captive by a cape named Coil."_

"Will this contact help me?"

"_No. None of us can really help you, because we don't know for sure where Taylor is. But you can find her, can't you?"_

"I will," Yuki promised.

"_Good. I'm so sorry for all of this, Yuki. I've done all I can for you, I hope you understand."_

"I do. And I'll tell Taylor what all you did and sacrificed for us. If you see Obsidian…tell him thank you."

The line ended.

Yuki finished her dinner, turned the television off, and set her phone to wake her early. She was determined to make Chicago by the next day, and Brockton bay the day after.

"I'm coming, Taylor," she promised.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

_The Coruscanti sky burned. The Unified Galactic Republic had fallen. _

_Taylor ran as fast as she could, her torn and shredded robes flapping in the wind of her passage, as she fled the death of the Bendu Temple. _

_The sound of the frigate's passage was like a deep, visceral rumbling. _

"_Master!"_

_Taylor slowed as one of the padawans cried out for help. The older apprentices had been carrying the younglings, but one fell. Around them, the last vestiges of the Republic's military formed ranks to hold off the angry, terrified mobs._

_Coruscant had fallen, but not just to the Leviathans. _

_Forty years of pogroms to try and stop the Leviathans had failed. A thousand worlds had been burned into rubble, and still the monsters spread. The only way the Republic could kill them was when they became planet-bound and began their reproductive cycles. In space, they were simply unstoppable. _

_More importantly, the infected worlds stopped accepting their deaths as inevitable. Desperate for any type of life, no matter how short or violent, infected worlds started resisting the ever-weakening Republic forces. The great world-killing dreadnaughts had fallen, one after the other, and civil war now preceded the arrival of every leviathan. _

_The elevated plaza shook with the approach of the burning frigate. _

"_Shields!" the soldiers shouted. _

_Desperate men and women threw portable shield units across the plaza. It was too late to keep running. Force-trained or not, the younglings and padawans screamed in terror as the massive frigate slammed into the temple, piling through the unshielded structures._

_Taylor rushed back to the younglings, grabbing several and bracing all in the Force. _

_The sound was beyond deafening. The plaza shook so violently that soldiers and Bendu alike were tossed in the air. Beyond, the temple that had stood in one form or another for 20,000 years ceased to exist in a cloud of shattered permacrete and paristeel. The frigate continued further down, blasting through the temple at an oblique angle that took it further into the underlayers of the city. A hull built to withstand energies that could crack continents in half did not even bend before the temple. _

_But when it struck the true surface…_

_The clouds of permacrete dust billowed against and then over the portable shield wall. _

"_We have to flee!" Taylor shouted. She wielded the Force to ensure all could hear. "Come!"_

_The last Bendu transport perched precariously on a landing pad that remained in the air only because of independent repulsors. Rebel forces took pot-shots at the transport's shielding from buildings across the vast city canyons. _

_She grabbed one of the younger initiates not yet of Padawan age in her arm and ran, trusting the rest to follow. She was the last master on the planet, and their lives hung on her shoulders. She heard soldiers shouting behind her, and the sound of blaster bolts being fired, but dared not look back. More soldiers in the white and blue armor of the Republic motioned them into the transport. _

_Only when she reached the ramp did Taylor turn to see what pursued. _

_Three infected had reached the plaza—one who could fly and shoot beams of light from her eyes, and two who were absorbing the blaster bolts of the soldiers as if they were nothing. _

_Taylor put the initiate down. "Go!" she urged._

"_But…where are we?" The Padawan appeared frightened and confused. "This isn't Brockton Bay."_

_Taylor stumbled, confused herself. She looked down and where before was a young Echani youngling in an initiate's tunic, now stood a thin, pale human girl with shadowed eyes and limp dark hair. She wore a plain white sleeping gown and stood barefoot as she looked around the plaza. _

"_Where is this place?" she asked. "Are those really space ships? Who are you?"_

_All around, time slowed. The billowing cloud of dust moved in a crawl. Taylor could see a streak of laser light emerging from the flying infected's eyes, zeroing in one a hapless soldier. And behind, she could just the hint of shockwave where the frigate hit the true surface of the planet. The explosion would be catastrophic. _

"_This is Coruscant," Taylor explained, as confused as the girl. "The heart of the galaxy. It's falling, though. We have to run."_

_The girl shook her head. "It's not real. It's just a memory. It's already happened. A long time ago."_

"_But it's now. It's real. I'm real."_

_The girl took her hand. "What's your name, then?"_

"_I'm Bendu Master Ouria Whiteriver." _Taylor Hebert_._

"_No, that's not right. My name is Ouria!" _Taylor_!_

"_This is a memory. But it's not yours. This isn't what's happening." The girl took Taylor's hand, and something impossible happened. The girl, she realized, was infected. And yet somehow her Leviathan-granted power merged into her own Force presence._

_Suddenly they were somewhere else entirely. It was a place utterly different from Coruscant, and yet oddly similar in the amount of destruction they saw. Crumpled buildings ringed a vast area of rubble and mud. _

_Overhead, the sky shimmered like a serpent composed of a trillion mirrors under a darkly-red light. A naked, golden man hung down from the sky, connected by writhing masses of tentacles that slithered out from the back of his head. All around, the infected of the city appeared to be reaching toward the false golden glow that surrounded him like a halo, as if they could not tell the sun from the false light above._

"_This is what's happening now," the girl said. She whimpered a little, staring about her in fright. "The numbers kept getting worse."_

"_Where is this?" Taylor asked, confused. "Who are you?"_

"_This is Brockton Bay. I'm Dinah Alcott. You're Taylor Hebert. The numbers said you would come. But you have to wake up, now. You can't save me until you save yourself. And you can't save yourself until you wake up."_

_Brockton Bay. Taylor knew, then. Her mother. Her father. Dead._

_Capes. The Protectorate. All infected. _

_And Scion…_

_The vision came with color and smells and a deep, visceral sense of danger. The scent of dying flowers and raw sewage and the coppery tang of blood fought for attention against the sounds of people screaming in the distance, crying out for help._

_Scion. The most powerful being in the world. . _

_Scion was doing to destroy the world, and there was nothing Taylor could do about it. She didn't have a fleet of Republic warships to fight him, and even if she did, the great republic of that lost galaxy wasn't ever able to save the worlds, only destroy the leviathans when the world died. It was why they lost, at the end. _

"_I'm scared," Dinah said._

"_I am too."_

_Scion turned his head toward them. The whole sky spun around with the movement, as if they were the center of a giant record spinning around them. The momentum of the sky made Taylor's stomach churn, while beside her Dinah's hand clutched hers harder and the girl whimpered._

_Empty golden eyes stared. The bearded visage of the false god opened in a silent scream. A single arm, muscled and perfect, raised a hand which pointed at the two of them. Below, writhing like worms in mud, the parahumans of Brockton Bay started coming for them. _

"_Don't let them get me, Taylor! Please, save me!"_


	28. Oh What I Have Seen With Your Eyes

A/N: Review Responses are in my forums as normal. Thanks for reading.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Oh, What I have Seen With Your Eyes**

_Ouria._

With the name came the image of a face. Oblong, wide in the forehead and narrowing down to her chin. Bone-white skin with large, glistening eyes of a blue not seen in humans. Hair the color of freshly fallen snow hung in a knot from the back of a skull lined in the intricate black tattoos of her culture.

Ouria was near-human—she was Dathomiri. Nor was she a teenager like Taylor—when Coruscanti fell she was in her fifties. She'd taken lovers and even had a child of her own, whom she'd loved and trained into the Order. She was a Bendu master at the end of the last Republic—one of the last masters of a Force tradition going back tens of thousands of years. The name had changed from Jedi and Sith to Bendu, but always the Force remained.

Taylor was not Ouria. And yet she somehow had all of her memories. Like a broken door, she saw inside the house of her mind to where her skills and knowledge came from. Always before she just thought it was her power—like other capes she thought she simply had an intuitive understanding.

But that wasn't the case. What her power did was attune her body to the Force so thoroughly that she had power like no other Jedi, Sith or Bendu had before. And to harness that power, somehow, she had the memories and training of the last, greatest Master of the Force. Her ability to build advanced technology did not come from a tinker power, but rather the knowledge, superb education and training of a Force-sensitive polymath.

_I am infected._

All thought ground to a halt. All emotions stopped. The only aspect of her mind that existed concentrated on that one singular thought.

_I am infected. Scion is a…leviathan. A monster. And I carry one of his seeds in me. And when he chooses to move on, he'll rip that seed from my skull and I'll die. Me and everyone else on this earth. On this and every other permutation of this Earth. _

"I know you're awake."

Taylor opened her eyes cautiously. The room had only dim lighting—a single lamp on a desk at the far end of the room. By that light she saw a girl sitting next to her bed.

The girl might have been pretty—beautiful, even—if not for the horrific burns that ran from the center of her skull down the left side of her face, down over her shoulders and left arm. She wore a white tube-top with an improvised strap over her right shoulder to leave the scarred flesh uncovered and untouched.

"Water." Taylor's throat felt like sandpaper, and her voice sounded the same—raspy and dry.

She turned her head and accepted the straw that provided a mouthful of lukewarm water. She swallowed it greedily, before pulling on more. The water in her stomach suddenly made her conscious of a deep pain that started in her gut, but then seemed to radiate out as she became aware of more aches and pains across her body.

"I bet you're hungry. I think Eidolon gave you a metabolism boost or something—you healed a lot faster than even your power would allow, but I could see you getting skinnier in the process. Here, sit up."

The girl offered Taylor her good arm, and she had no choice but to accept in order to sit up. The burned girl propped some pillows behind her, allowing her to sit mostly upright. Doing so made Taylor realize she was on the bottom half of a bunk bed. As the girl stood and walked to a rolling cart with a tray of food, she glanced around and saw concrete walls, a prison-style toilet and water fountain in one corner, and a television just visible under the support bars of the top bunk.

"This isn't the Birdcage," the girl said, somehow anticipating Taylor's question.

Taylor should have been terrified at the idea, but instead all she felt emotionally was numbness. The aching in her limbs and gut came almost as a relief—a note to make her think she was real, and not back in another woman's memories.

She returned with a tray of food—a bowl of rich chowder and Johnny cakes, with a large bottle of sports drink.

"Eat," the girl said. "You need the calories."

Taylor ate, dismayed at first by how her hand trembled. "Who are you?"

"Name's Lisa. And for your next question, you're here because you've been publicly unmasked. It was a shitty situation—the Triumvirate were right there and seemed like they wanted to defend you, but they would have lost at trial. The state prosecutor had an arrest warrant and had Armsmaster and Chevalier with him to enforce it. The Triumvirate wanted you, but not enough to fracture the Protectorate. So…we snatched you away."

"We?"

"_We, Ms. Hebert." _The voice emerged from hidden speakers, diffused through the room evenly enough that Taylor had a hard time discerning a direction. She reached out her senses, and felt many interesting minds, but none were that of the speaker. "_My name is Coil. And I could not just sit by and watch a hero who just saved an entire hospital placed under arrest."_

Taylor racked her brain for the name Coil. She knew all about the Empire Eighty-Eight and the Azian Bad-Boys. The whole city knew about the Merchants. "I've never heard of you."

"_I consider that a good thing, Ms. Hebert. I cannot claim to be a costumed hero, nor would I insult your intelligence by doing so. If I were to draw a similarity to others of my type, I would say I share similar goals and approaches to my friend Accord. I very much want to make Brockton Bay a better place, but I have limited trust in being able to do so within a broken system."_

Accord, Taylor knew. A thinker in Boston, Accord was wanted for several murders, but for some reason the Protectorate could never pin anything on him. He was like the ultimate mafia boss, only with a power that somehow made it very hard to pin any crimes on him.

"And did Lisa upset you like his victims upset Accord?" she asked.

Lisa snorted.

"_Tattletale here had a tragic encounter with Lung. She is the only survivor of a band of teenaged capes called the Undersiders. Though I must confess I share some responsibility for her injuries. My power is usually sufficient to ensure those I work with are safe, but in her case I failed. I applied my power to another mission, and as a result she lost her teammates and suffered the injuries you see now. Injuries which, if I understand correctly, you could heal for reasonable compensation."_

Taylor glanced to the door.

"Coil, I'm sitting in a prison cell. I don't feel particularly generous right now."

"_I understand your apprehension. These facilities were built for secrecy, not comfort. However, if you try you will find the door is unlocked. You and Tattletale are not my prisoners. You can leave at any time. However, before you do so, please understand what will happen."_

With a scowl that looked positively ghoulish with her scars and ruined left eye, Lisa reached under the food cart and removed a folded-up newspaper. It wasn't a Brockton Bay Paper. It wasn't even a Boston Paper. It was the New York Times.

Her soaking wet, blood-soaked face was on the front page.

_Winslow Simurgh Embarrasses Protectorate._

Taylor forced herself to start eating the admittedly good stew as she read the article. She recognized the journalist who wrote it because she often wrote opinion pieces on the NYT page of Parahumans Online.

Costa-Brown had to do congressional hearings? The article read like an assassination piece against the entire PRT and Protectorate, and painted Taylor as an unrepentant murderer. It completely glossed over the fact that she worked as a healer in Seattle, instead going into graphic detail over how many Russian soldiers she killed, or that Tekiya foot soldier in Bayview West.

"_Prosecutor Bill Epstein reiterated his commitment to ensuring that Taylor Hebert was remanded to the Baumann Parahuman Containment facility as originally ordered by the court. 'We cannot continue to allow murderous villains like this to make a mockery of our laws and courts. The state of New Hampshire is prepared to see justice done, even if the PRT and Protectorate are not!'"_

She set the paper aside and forced herself to take a deep breath. As much as she just wanted to sit and think, her stomach demanded that she continue eating.

As she did so, Lisa spoke.

"They really did want you. Costa-Brown testified before a joint committee that Piggot just plain screwed up with you, and that your sentence was a mistake."

"Then why are they still calling for my blood?"

Coil answered from the speakers.

"_Because Rebecca Costa-Brown has ruled the PRT for over 18 years and run roughshod over federal agencies from ICE to the FBI. And in those 18 years, despite amassing an agency larger than the FBI, NSA, and CIA combined, Nilbog remains a threat. The Slaughterhouse Nine roam free. And here, the city is still torn apart on a daily basis by parahuman gangs. The people of this country, and their elected leaders, are sick of the complacency of the Protectorate and PRT. And you, unfortunately, have become a tool for them to focus their anger on. That's why you could never receive a fair trial. That's why any question of guilt or innocence is largely irrelevant. You've been found guilty in the court of public opinion."_

"Tell me how you really feel," Taylor muttered.

Lisa snorted again—it appeared to be the closest she could come to laughing.

"_My apologies. As you can see, the subject is one I feel strongly about. Which is why I took the risk I did in saving you."_

"So, you saved me out of compassion. Thank you." Taylor didn't bother to hide her sarcasm. "When the Elite helped me escape the Protectorate in Seattle, they had certain expectations. I have to assume that as altruistic as you are, that you have expectations of me?"

"_I would be a foolish man if I didn't, Ms. Hebert. But for now, all I expect of you is to rest and recover. We'll talk more tomorrow_."

Taylor looked down, taking advantage of the break in conversation to eat. Only, the stew was gone, as were the johnny cakes.

"Don't worry, dinner's in an hour," Lisa said with a smile.

"Are you my jailer, then?"

She shook her head, though she winced a little as the motion pulled her scars.

"No, I'm your roommate. That food's gonna hit you like a brick in a few minutes. So, I'm gonna let you rest. I have a hot game of solitaire calling my name."

She took the tray away and put it back on the cart. Taylor watched as the other girl walked to the door and opened it, shoving the cart into the hall.

Five minutes later, just like Lisa warned, she was asleep.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The sob and creaking of metal springs from the bunk above woke Taylor.

Taylor slept right through dinner. When she did wake up, it was to the sound of a whimper and the creak of springs.

Lisa turned in her sleep, snoring and then whimpering a little before shifting positions. Taylor sensed the girl's dreams—dreams of a monster laughing at her while it touched her with fire. It's touched burned off her skin, while an emotionless figure in Japanese devil mask held her down.

Taylor quickly shied away from the nightmare. Instead, she reached out with her mind across Coil's base.

The sheer number of mercenaries in the facility surprised her. She sensed at least two hundred soldiers. They felt hard in the Force—professional and deadly like the Russians in Seattle. More importantly, she felt others as well. At least two girls and three guys, from their thoughts not much older than she was. They were all embroiled in mixed feelings of resentment, bitterness and guilt.

That guilt trailed down to a space below the other levels, to something that felt horrifying to Taylor. The Force itself rebelled against the creature below, which seemed to hold the echo of a human girl caught within the dying shard of a leviathan.

Just like Lisa's nightmare, she pulled away from the Lovecraftian nightmare given flesh, and found herself looking closer by.

That's when she felt a familiar mind. _Dinah._

The girl from her odd memory of a dying Coruscant did not feel telepathic, not at all. But something about her power synergized with the Force. It was as if she were reaching just a second into the future to leave messages for Taylor, and inviting Taylor to do the same. While it was all a function of pre-cognition, the end result felt very much like an enhanced telepathic bond, similar to what she shared with Yuki.

Dinah's thoughts felt sluggish and heavy with drugs and the early hour, but clear regardless.

_You're real. You're here._

_Yes. Are you okay?_

_Tired. Head hurts. _

_Me too._

_What we saw…there's a 93% chance the world ends. In our lifetime._

_I know. _

_You know what Scion is._

_Yes._

_You're the key. I can't see how or why, but the numbers say if we live, it's because of you. Please try not to die._

_I'll do my best._

_Coil's here. I have to…_

_Wait! Open your mind, to me, Dinah. Let me see._

More than even Yuki when the two meditated together, something about Dinah lent itself to Taylor's power with such seamless effectiveness that the instant she thought of the request, she found herself looking out on another room with another person's eyes.

This room looked identical to Taylor's and Lisa's, only smaller. Instead of a bunk bed, it held a single steel-frame and mattress. There was a television in the upper corner and the same type prison-style toilet and sink in the other that Taylor saw in her own room. It held no desk, nor a computer, nor any other furnishings. It was a prison cell.

The heavy steel door swung upon. With Dinah's eyes, she saw a heavily armed soldier that Dinah knew was named Dimitri just stepping out of the way, before a new figure emerged into the room.

Whether it was Dinah's own emotions or Taylor's instincts, something about the man felt repulsive. Whether it was the fact that his body suit was so thin and tight that she could see his ribs, or the bulge in his crotch, he just appeared disgusting. The costume was all black, with a white snake-figure sewed in such a way that it looked like it was wrapped around his stick-like frame. His faceless cowl only hinted at his narrow features.

For a sickening second, Taylor feared that Dinah was about to get assaulted.

That fear faded quickly. Without words, Dinah shared with Taylor memories and images, and in none of them did Coil ever even touch her. What really bothered Taylor the most about his appearance, though, was that it held no substance in the Force. She couldn't feel him with her power, even if she could see him through Dinah's eyes just a few doors away.

"It's morning, pet. You know what questions I ask you."

Dinah knew the question—they'd been burned into Dinah's consciousness for the past two weeks of her captivity. Taylor could see the futures spanning out in front of Dinah, with a clarity and detail that left her breathless and numbed. Rather than try to parse out any one future, Dinah's power somehow sorted them according to the individual question, arriving at a set percentage of futures that met those guidelines.

The answers, though, seemed to flow around Taylor herself. In future after future, she saw herself try to escape and kill Coil. In almost all the futures, she failed to even find him, and in every future she saw the back of her skull explode. Again and again.

Seeing that future impacted it. She determined that she would not try to escape anytime soon, and just that decision profoundly changed the possible futures.

"Pet, answer me."

Dinah responded. Taylor heard the girl's weak, wistful answer. "Zero point two nine four percent chance there's any problems here in the next hour. Three point two six four percent chance there's any problems before lunchtime."

"Good girl. Two more questions."

Dinah's power hurt her. Through their connection Taylor could feel the little girl's headache already progress beyond even her own pain from her injuries.

"Candy? It hurts."

"No, pet. It's too early. Two more questions. Will Taylor Hebert cooperate with me this morning."

Futures spanned out. He was going to be testing Taylor. She determined to cooperate, and again the future changed.

"Ninety-eight point nine two six percent chance she cooperates." Dinah gasped out the answer. "Candy, please," she whimpered. "It hurts bad."

"Maybe after lunch, Pet. One more question, and then we're done. What are the odds that Taylor Hebert can be trusted to join my organization?"

More futures. Almost all of them had Taylor hunting down or killing Coil, or dying in the process. It made her realize then that he wasn't unkillable, only that the circumstances had to be right. However, those futures also shifted even as she and Dinah viewed them, to Coil flooding the room she and Lisa stayed in with a lethal, invisible gas.

Dinah had to answer. She had to tell Coil that there was a near 100% chance that Taylor could betray and kill him. But just answering the question resulted in Taylor's immediate death.

With desperation and determination, Taylor pushed harder into their link, until she intercepted the words that Dinah's power required be said and spoke her own instead. "Eighty-nine point three two six percent chance she is loyal to your organization."

Coil stood motionless for the longest time, save for the subtle expansion of his and the slight puffing of his mask when he breathed. "That number is higher than before we captured her. What changed?"

"Candy. Hurts. Please?"

Coil crossed his arms across his narrow, bony chest and tapped his forefinger against his chin. "Interesting. The girl is lesbian, if the reports from Seattle are to be believed. And I have her with…oh. Oh, how interesting. Pet, last question, and then I promise you candy. What are the chances that I can control Hebert through Tattletale?"

Again, Taylor took control. Rather than give the abysmal numbers that Dinah's power revealed, she said, "Eighty-eight point nine two one percent chance."

"Almost identical," Coil said. He chuckled to himself. "And Tattletale probable knew it when she first saw Hebert. I'll control the more powerful one through her affection for the weaker. You've done well, Pet. I'll have Pitter come with candy."

Abruptly, he was gone. He didn't teleport, he was simply gone. Taylor could sense Dimitri in another part of the base, as if he'd never walked down the hall to open the door. Even the worst of Dinah's pain seemed to have abated. Her whole perception lurched, as if the last few minutes never happened. And yet she remembered them, and because of her bond with Dinah, the little girl did too.

_Dinah, what was that?_

_His power. Every morning he asks questions, and then erases it. Ever since he took me from mom and dad._

Taylor didn't miss Coil's language about her. She was a captive, no matter what he said.

_Some of your visions showed my head exploding._

_You saw? Wow. That was the bomb going off in your head. He recruited a bomb maker, and she put bombs in your head in case you tried to hurt him, or escape_

That news chilled her to the bone. A bomb in her head? Almost unconsciously, she merged herself with Dinah's incredible vision again, directing it without asking questions. Against a myriad of futures spanned out before her, and auditing those futures revealed the truths of her condition. Coil had a trigger, his captain Dimitri had a trigger, and Coil himself had a dead-man switch.

_That didn't hurt,_ Dinah said. She sounded awestruck.

_I'll try not to ever hurt you, Dinah. But I've got to find a way to escape and…_

Dinah's power spanned out again, shaped by the conditions of Taylor's request. And in almost all of them, Yuki simply walked into the base to save her. And three quarters of the time, the act of doing so resulted in Taylor's head exploding.

_Eighty one percent,_ Dinah confirmed.

Taylor guided her new young friend into the nineteen percent of scenarios where her head didn't explode.

_Panacea and New Wave. _

Astonishingly, just the act of realizing that began changing the odds. _You are amazing, Dinah. If we get out of here it'll be as much because of you as me. Be strong._

_You too._

She let the connection fade, trying not to think about how much pain the little girl was in, or how much the connection exhausted Taylor.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The door opened almost as soon as Lisa finished her morning toilet in the corner. She didn't even blink at his intrusion. The man didn't carry anything but a baton. He wore no armor, just dark green cargo pants and a tight black T-shirt that revealed a lean, muscular torso. He wore a pointed goatee on his long chin, and the center of his head gleamed under the lights with an absence of hair.

This was Dimitri, then, Taylor realized. The guard Dinah recognized.

"Come with me, please," he said to Taylor.

The hall outside their room appeared to be plain concrete. She counted a total of four doors, all to her right, and a fifth at the end of the hall. The space bristled with three separate cameras and lines in the floor she suspected were sensors of some kind. He led her to the last door to her right, just inside the fifth.

Inside a man sat slumped unconscious in a metal chair. He would have fallen if not for the very secure ropes holding him up. A simple metal table separated him from the door. Opposite his seat was another plain, silvery metal chair.

She sat at the soldier's motion and he took up a position behind her, arms crossed over a broad chest.

"_Good morning, Ms. Hebert,"_ Coil said from the room's hidden speakers_. "Yesterday we spoke about altruism and the state of the city. You asked what I wanted? This is a taste of what I am hoping you might do for my organization. You see, this gentleman is Joschka Steinmeier, lately of Grafenhainichen, Germany. Mr. Steinmeier is a Nazi. And by that, I mean he is a member of the militant arm of the revived National Socialist German Worker's Party, also known as Gessellschaft. _

"_Mr. Steinmeier happens to know when we can expect the arrival of the _Anne-Marie_, a privately chartered luxury yacht that just happens to be carrying twenty-three tons of small arms, explosives and some suspected tinker-tech. It was my hope, based on past descriptions of your power, that you could find within this man's mind where and when the _Anne Marie_ will enter the United States."_

She was there, out of her room, solely because of what Dinah told him. And so she chose to continue the charade without hesitation. She stabbed into the unconscious man's mind without mercy. He jerked in the chair, moaning in pain even while unconscious.

"Pier 23, Dock 2, just after midnight tonight," she said.

There was a long moment of silence. "_Just like that, Ms. Hebert?"_

"What, were you expecting a lightshow? It's telepathy. I went in, planted a suggestion he was running late, and he thought about how to get to the pier."

"_I see. Could you…control him, perhaps?"_

Taylor shook her head. "I can plant suggestions, but if they run counter to his core beliefs he could break them. I'm not like Heartbreaker, I can't control people remotely like that. And if he's had conditioning, the suggestion would only last a few minutes, if at all."

Behind her, she could feel a surge of relief from the mercenary.

"_I see. Well, this has been most illuminating. Dimitri will take you back to your room, after which, if you would like, you're more than welcome to join the other residents in the mess hall for breakfast. I understand the French toast is quite excellent."_

"Will you be there?"

"_Unfortunately, not. As you might imagine, I am a very busy man. We may meet in time, but for now our communications will be remote. However, understand that trust is earned. As you trust me, so I will trust you. You did quite well under the Elite in Washington. Rest assured, if you choose to join my organization, you will be handsomely rewarded."_

"I understand. I'm still tired, so I'm going to go lay down. Maybe I can drag Lisa out for lunch."

"_That would be thoughtful. Since her injuries, she's not been out of that room. Your company may be just what she needs to live again."_

Taylor fought hard not to smirk. "Couldn't hurt to ask."

Coil might have been a supervillain, but he didn't know jack shit about how girls thought.


	29. Dream Lover

A/N: Chap 28 review responses are in my forums.

Now: Trigger Warning-Yuki has a somewhat one-track mind.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dream Lover**

Right before she woke up on the morning she expected to reach Brockton Bay, Yuki had a dream about Taylor.

It was, perhaps, the strangest dream she'd ever had involving her lover. Normally, her dreams about Taylor involved lots of sex. Usually preceded by Taylor kicking her Uncle in the head and carrying her out bridal style from the middle of school so all the kids who made fun of her could see that she was loved and protected by the most awesome girl in the world.

And then they'd have sex.

Sometimes she dreamed about she and Taylor single-handedly beating Tekiya and the Sons of the Republic and having Alexandria beg them both to lead the Protectorate, followed by lots and lots of sex.

Occasionally, they both had sex with Obsidian. That was a relatively new wrinkle in her dreams, but as she often told Taylor, she wasn't really into girls. She just liked sex, she didn't care so much about the gender of her partner. Just that they would love her.

Once in a vary rare while she'd even have a nightmare where she realized that Taylor didn't love her, at least not as much as she loved Taylor. In those dreams, the big bad faceless monster would try to kill Taylor and Yuki would save the day by sacrificing herself, and only then would Taylor truly understand just how much Yuki loved her.

And then she'd come back as a ghost, possess Obsidian, and then have possessed ghost sex, like that old movie with Patrick Swayze. Patrick Swayze. He was yummy. Dirty Dancing. _Hmmmm_.

That's what made the current dream so odd. She and Taylor sat in a café in a city she'd never seen and couldn't focus on with a girl who seemed younger than she looked. The girl looked pale and drugged out, but sat looking around with an awe-struck expression.

"I've missed you so much," Yuki said, feeling it important to get the declaration out. "Obsidian came to kill me, but he couldn't and let me go. I kissed him. He has really hard lips. I wonder if…

"Yuki, children are present," Taylor said, with a sad smile.

"Oh, but…right. Hi, children."

The girl stared at her flatly. "My name is Dinah. This isn't a dream. Taylor's hijacked my precognition and turned it into a telepathic transmitter." The flat expression cracked a little into the hint of a smile. "Which is so cool."

"What does that mean?" Yuki asked.

"It means you're not dreaming, I'm talking to you telepathically," Taylor explained. "You've got to listen. I was captured by a villain named Coil. Say the name for me."

"Why?"

"Because you're asleep, and you'll forget if you don't."

"Oh, okay. Coil. Coil. Coil."

"Good. Coil put a bomb in my head. If I don't do what he says, he's going to kill me. Repeat it, please."

"Bomb in your head. Coil. Kill you. Fuck, Taylor, what can I do to save you?"

"I need you to go to New Wave and tell them. Not the PRT. I don't know why, but if you tell the PRT, I die. Every time. You'll be able to find me when you get to Brockton Bay. New Wave will have to split up. Half of them have to go to the PRT to talk to distract officials there, and half have to come with you. Panacea has to be with you. Repeat."

"Coil. Bomb in your head. New Wave. Don't tell PRT. Split up. PRT and me at the same time. Panacea with me."

"Tell them Coil has hostages."

"Hostages. Got it. Um, can we…"

"Children present," Taylor noted.

Dinah made a face. "God, that's gross."

The dream ended without any sex at all. Yuki sat up, completely dissatisfied with the lack of dream intercourse. Only to remember.

"Huh. Coil. Bomb in Taylor's head. Need New Wave, don't tell PRT, send half of New Wave to the PRT, Panacea and others with me to find Taylor." Her eyes abruptly bulged as the import of the words struck. "Holy fuck, Taylor has a bomb in her head!"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Yuki was not expecting a police barricade across the main highway into Brockton Bay. She passed lots of traffic out of the city, but the only traffic into the city were National Guard caravans accompanying big rigs filled with, presumably, emergency supplies.

It shouldn't have surprised her, but it did.

Nor was it just a few cars with cops waiving trucks through. Someone set up a temporary building with bumps across the road that probably had retractable spikes or something. Officers were stopping every truck, even the National Guard trucks, though those got waived through quickly.

Yuki became intensely aware of the fact that she only had her learner's permit from Seattle, before her uncle sold her, and no insurance.

The state trooper waived her forward. He wore a dark green shirt with tan pants, a broad-rimmed hat and a bullet-proof vest. He approached the care carefully, while on either side of the highway two more troopers stood with assault rifles at the ready.

"License and registration, please."

_Registration_? "Um, right. Ah, here's my license." She handed the card over. "Registration. Registration. Um, what's it look like?"

The trooper looked from the paper Washington state learner's permit to Yuki. She noticed he had a very strong jaw and found herself wondering if his lips were as hard as Obsidian's.

"How old are you, miss?"

"Um…sixteen? I turned sixteen in January."

"Is this your car?"

"My boss's company gave it to me."

He didn't look convinced. "Miss, please park your car over by the tent."

"But…I have to get to Brockton Bay. I need to talk to Panacea! I drove all this way!"

He'd started to take her permit and turn away, but he paused a moment. "And why is that?"

Yuki found a path, then, as clear as if Taylor were there coaching her.

"I…I went to Quintessence. Last month. And she said she couldn't heal cancers. Only Panacea could. I'm a Leviathan orphan, and when I turned sixteen the home kicked me out. I don't have any insurance, and I spent every dime I had to come here. Please, I don't want to die. I just…please. I have to see Panacea. They say she heals people for free, right?"

"What type of cancer?" he asked. He sounded oddly ambivalent, as if he somehow thought she was lying and at the same time hoped she wasn't.

"Ovarian," Yuki said, thinking about Mrs. Whitacre at the high school. She died at twenty-six. "It…it's already stage four. I thought the cramps were normal, until…" It amazed her how easily it was to summon tears.

More amazing was how effective those tears were. The trooper handed the permit back.

"The downtown area is a mess. There's been heavy gang fighting throughout the city. If you see warning signs, follow them. Panacea's been working out of Brockton Memorial, south of the Towers. It's the nicer part of town, and survived mostly intact."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

He waved her through and soon enough she was on her way.

She imagined driving into the landward side of the city was like driving into Seattle from the north or south. Other than the relatively empty streets, it didn't look like the city had been struck by an Endbringer until she crested a hill and looked down into the city proper. From that vantage, with the sun setting at her back, she could see a scar that ran from the horse-shoe shaped bay into the center of the city.

All along the edges, she saw evidence of flood damage, but structurally most of the city looked intact. She continued down the hill into the nicer suburbs, following the instructions on her phone to reach Brockton Memorial.

Once she got into downtown, though, she saw more barricades. Some were police barricades, some were PRT. She spotted a whole stretch of charred rubble surrounded by PRT tape, mute evidence of a cape fight.

When she saw a FEMA notice, it almost felt as if she were back in Seattle.

The road to the hospital where Panacea worked out was blocked off. A little driving found a parking garage that looked mostly empty. As she approached, she saw the gates down and a sign hung on them announcing the facility was closed.

"Perfect," she said.

Her lightsaber cut through the locks easily enough. And though she wasn't nearly as good as Taylor, Yuki was good enough with the Force to lift the gate so she could drive through. She drove up the abandoned structure until she reached the second floor.

Once safely parked, she climbed out of the car and then sat cross-legged on its hood. She closed her eyes and imagined the ocean that Taylor first revealed to her—the vast waters of the Force. She let the waves of it wash over her, until she almost tingled with its soothing, wonderful energy.

And almost immediately she felt Taylor with her mind. She smiled brilliantly and wiped a tear away. _I'm here! I'm here! Where are you?_

Of course, Yuki had no idea where in the city she was, but with their bond re-established, she could feel a direction. She climbed down, and with her mind only half paying attention, she left the garage and followed the pull of Taylor's presence until she came to another parking garage, this one adjacent to an old brick and steel tower that looked like it was built in the forties.

It was a bank, though the garage beside it wasn't. It took every once of will she had to keep walking past the garage when she could feel her love just under it. So close.

She turned to return to her own garage, and from there to the hospital, when she bounced against the chest of a tall man that had just turned a corner. She stumbled back, finding her feet only because of Taylor's training, and found herself staring at the broad, bare chest of a man who otherwise wore blue jeans and a steel wolf mask. The Force shrieked of danger, though she knew enough to realize he was a cape just from the mask.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted.

Another figure emerged from behind him—a hard, blonde woman with a tightly compact body like a gymnast. In fact, she had a similar build to Yuki, only taller and more powerfully built. Her most distinguished features was a line of scar tissue across her throat and a metal cage around her head.

"Another ABB noob?" the girl asked. She held a small device to her throat, producing a buzzing, artificial voice.

"No other reason some dumb-ass chink would be in Chosen territory," the wolf-mask man said.

Yuki frowned. "AB-what? I'm from Seattle. I just came to try and get healing for my cancer. That's all."

The girl clicked her tongue. "Bitch is lying."

She reached around her shoulder and removed dangerous-looking kama—a handle with a scythe-like blade attached. Yuki scrambled back.

"Kaiser died fighting Leviathan, so we call our own shots now," the wolf-mask man said. "And I'm done playing grab-ass with the fucking chinks. Kill the bitch, we've got more important things to do."

Yuki grabbed her lightsaber and concentrated on it as hard as she could. The kama girl rushed forward, so fast she almost blurred.

Yuki went ghost. She watched as her outer clothes fluttered down to the ground, but to her joy she'd managed to take the lightsaber with her. Taking things ghost was hard, but she couldn't afford to lose her saber.

"Ah fuck, another chink cape," Kama Girl's artificial voice said. She made a barely audible clicking noise. "Huh, can't detect her. Must have teleported, like Oni Lee. We'd better let the others know."

"Right, let's get moving," Wolf-mask man said.

The two continued walking away. When they turned the corner at the end of the block, Yuki reappeared and started pulling on her outer clothes. Her Yurei suit felt more like a swimming suit than a costume.

"Halt!"

Yuki sighed. "Now what?" she muttered.

She turned and then melted at the sight of the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. The cape floated in the air like an angel, with long blonde hair and the most glorious blue eyes, like the Jesus in the stained glass of their original home. Her white and gold costume ended with a skirt that revealed glorious legs, though Yuki was sad to note she wore biker shorts underneath.

"Holy fuck, are you checking me out?"

"Yeah," Yuki breathed. "You are so fucking hot! Are you a hero? Oh, what am I saying? White costume? Of course you're a hero! Hi! We're you coming to save me from the scary lady with the cage on her head?"

Seeing Yuki wasn't interested in a fight, the beautiful angel floated down to the ground. Her white boots made crunching sounds on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, that was Cricket and Hookwolf. Since Kaiser died they've made their own little team of Nazis. With half my team down, I'm under orders not to fuck with 'em if I don't have to. Hookwolf can be a bitch to handle. But then you just poofed away. So, are you a new cape?"

"Me?" Yuki realized she had no mask, just like the angel. "Um, yeah. I don't go fighting or stuff. I used to work in a clinic, but my…my girlfriend's in trouble, so I came to help. Hey, you wouldn't know how I could find New Wave, would you? They're some hero team here I'm supposed to talk to."

The angel suddenly looked a lot less angelic. She was still intensely cute, and Yuki wouldn't have minded getting under those biker shorts of hers, but she just seemed normal, now. It was only as she studied the other girl that Yuki realized her first impression was a foreign influence.

The girl stared, mouth gaping. "You don't know who I am?"

"I'm from out of town. Should I?"

"I'm Glory Girl."

"Um, hi, Glory Girl. I'm Yuki. I guess my cape name is Yurei. I have a mask around here, somewhere."

"I mean, Glory Girl of New Wave."

Yuki stared a moment before the words sank in. "You're with New Wave?"

"Yeah."

Yuki lunged forward and hugged the girl before she knew what was happening. "Oh, thank God! I thought I'd have to walk around forever to find you!"

"Um, okay? You can let go now."

Hands that were impossibly strong prodded her arms apart and forced her back. "So why do you need New Wave?"

"Well, my girlfriend said she's being held by a supervillain named Coil! And he put a bomb in her head to make her cooperate! And he has other hostages too! There was this weird girl with her, maybe eleven or twelve. And she said that if I went to the PRT, she'd die! I had to go to you, and New Wave couldn't tell the PRT or she'd die!"

Glory Girl didn't look convinced. "Okay, wow. That's quite the story. Who's your girlfriend?"

"Quintessence," Yuki said. "You know, Taylor Hebert?"

Glory Girl's expression went flat. "Well fuck."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Carol Dallon couldn't tear her eyes away from her husband's still face. She tried to remember the last time he looked so…peaceful.

Beside him in the shared room, her nephew Eric Pelham lay as equally still. Both men were physically fine thanks to Amy's healing power, but though their bodies were healthy, but suffered such significant trauma that their minds were damaged.

Enough that the only thing that gave Carol hope was something she'd heard Quintessence shout across the hospital floor, when she'd brought her husband in.

"_Amy, I can heal their brains!"_

Only…

Only Quintessence turned out to be one of the most hated capes in Brockton Bay. And then, somehow, she escaped from the very midst of the Triumvirate themselves.

She'd cried for two days; all that was left now was a numb despair.

The door opened. She looked up and saw her sister walk tiredly into the room. Both women eschewed their costumes while half their team was bedridden. As much as Carol wanted her husband back, she could barely imagine the anguish Sarah must be going through, with both of her children injured. Fortunately, Amy believed Crystal would be fine. But Eric would not wake on his own.

After all, Amy couldn't heal brains.

Carol accepted the cup of weak coffee Sarah Pelham offered with an equally tepid smile. "Thanks."

She took a sip—two sugars and a pack of French vanilla creamer, just the way she preferred. Sarah settled into the chair closer to Eric, simply staring longingly at her son.

"Legend said this was the best showing against Leviathan ever."

"Yeah." She'd already covered it yesterday, looking desperately for something to talk about to take their minds off their damaged family.

Mid-way through her cup, Sarah shook her head. "That girl was not a murderer."

The vehemence made Carol focus on something besides her numbness. "What?"

"Quintessence. Hebert. Carol, that girl was not a murderer. The way she bonded so quickly with that West coast Ward? The one Glory Girl talked about? There's no way in hell she deserves the Birdcage. It's just…it's not right. I know her trigger must have been awful, and Miss Militia's death was a tragedy. But there's got to be more to the story. That girl is not a murderer."

Abruptly Glory Girl ran into the room, followed by a mere slip of an Asian girl. "Mom! Mom!"

"Glory Girl, inside voice! And Aura!"

"Oh, right. Sorry. ThisgirlsaysQuintessencehasabombinherheadandneedshelpfromCoil!"

Carol tried very hard to decipher the jumble of sounds into actual words with meaning. What she heard was 'Quintessence' and 'Coil."

"Vicky, why don't you let your friend explain," Sarah suggested helpfully.

All eyes turned to the tiny Asian girl, who grinned and waved without any trace of embarrassment.

"Hi! I'm Yuki. Or Yurei if I have a mask on, I guess. I'm Taylor's girlfriend from Seattle. She told me in a dream that Coil captured her and put a bomb in her head, but that if I went to the PRT he'd know and she'd die. And if you went to the PRT he'd know and she'd die. I guess he's in the PRT or something. Anyway, she needs you guys to do something so I can get Panacea to her and take the bomb out."

_Taylor's girlfriend._

Sarah looked doubtful. "Miss Yuki, is there anyway you can prove any of what you say?"

The girl shrugged. "I didn't even _know_ she could send messages in dreams like that. We were sitting at a table, and there was this kid there named Dinah, so I couldn't dream about fucking her like I wanted to. Dinah said something about Taylor hijacking her pre-cog into a telepathic transmitter, but that was kind of weird. All I know was that she made me repeat everything about Coil, and the bomb, and not going to the PRT."

"I know she's gay, she was definitely checking me out," Glory Girl said, as if somehow that helped.

"I'm not gay," Yuki said. "I just like pretty people. And you are totally hot. You've got awesome legs. Not as nice as Taylor's, but she has that whole supermodel build going on. You've got it up top, though. And I love your hair. What do you use?"

"Well, I use…"

"Girls," Sarah called. "Yuki, what's this about a kid? Dinah, you said her name was?"

"Yeah."

"Dinah Alcott, maybe?"

"Dunno, she never said her last name. But Coil has her too, whoever she is."

The two blonde sisters shared a long look. "No one's ever seen him, but we know he's a power in the underground," Sarah noted.

"The mayor said she'd been complaining of headaches before she disappeared," Carol added.

Abruptly Yuki stiffed.

"Oh, that's so cool!" she said. "I can feel her in my head, like she needs to tell me something new…ah…like a…oh."

And like that, the tiny girl simply folded into herself. All three of the New Wave heroes watched as she collapsed onto the floor silently, too startled to do anything.

"Huh." Vicky summed the situation up succinctly. "What a weird girl."


	30. Interlude and Toccata in D Minor

A/N: Chap 29 Review Responses are in my forums as normal.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: Interlude and Toccata in D Minor**

Thomas Calvert, newly appointed assistant director of the PRT East North-East, did not believe that he could ever truly be paranoid. Paranoia to most meant delusional thoughts of persecution, jealousy or even exaggerated self-importance.

For the man who stood on the brink of ruling the city's most powerful law enforcement agency as Thomas Calvert, and the criminal world as Coil, there was no overstating his self-importance. Nor would it be possible for him to be too cautious regarding potential persecution if he were caught, or the jealousy of his peers even if he were not. He had enemies in both worlds, and if ever those two worlds came into contact, the entire empire he'd worked for over a decade to build would collapse like a house of cards.

Thomas always felt his greatest power was not being able to exist in two realities at once, but to balance all the pieces he had in play in both.

In one reality, Coil woke up to the driving, unrelenting piano of Prokofiev's Toccata in his primary underground base behind a vault door and twenty soldiers in state-of-the-art body-armor and tinker-tech weapons.

In the second reality, Thomas Calvert woke up in his perfectly normal, slightly rundown townhome in the southwest end of the downtown section of the city to the same driving notes of Prokofiev's organized chaos of a piano piece, at the same moment. He ate a simple breakfast of a single fried egg, toast and half of a grapefruit sprinkled with sugar while reading the daily alerts and schedule on his PRT-issued phone. Though a Saturday, his new position did not give him the luxury of a weekend.

Carol Dallon and her sister Sarah Pelham, the two leaders of New Wave, requested a meeting with him first thing that morning to better coordinate their efforts with the Protectorate schedules. According to a note his assistant added, Carol was also planning to ask about negotiating a contract for both her daughters to formally become Wards.

_That _got his attention. As the assistant director, one of his primary duties was coordinating with the Protectorate Wards team, which with the recent deaths of Shadow Stalker in January, and more recently Gallant in the Endbringer fight, needed all the help it could get. If he could also bring a full Alexandria package and the most powerful healer under his influence, that would make him the envy of the East Coast.

If he as Coil and he as Calvert were able to time the release of his special guest properly, he would be the director before summer was out. With Quintessence in his pocket as Coil, and Panacea and Glory Girl in his pocket as the PRT director, nothing would be able to stop him from rebuilding the city the way it was supposed to be.

With a young girl who could see the future, timing Noelle Meinhardt's release into the city would not be a problem.

In the first reality, Coil showered and donned a clean costume before opening the door to his office. He was met by his squad captains and Mr. Pitter, a nurse with features bland enough even Coil had trouble remembering his face.

"Mr. Pitter," Coil said. "How are our pets this morning?"

"Agitated, sir," Mr. Pitter said.

"Let's go see, then."

In the second reality, Thomas Calver left his townhome and walked down the sidewalk to the unmarked cream-colored sedan with the armed PRT soldier in the driver's seat. Fortunately, his neighborhood was not too badly damaged by Leviathan and was far from his base.

"Good morning, Director," the driver said. Thomas tried and failed to remember the man's name.

"Good morning. Looks like we're going to be getting some more rain this afternoon."

"Looks like, sir."

The drive into the PRT office took three times longer than it should. The newly established temporary PRT building occupied what used to be the Brockton Bay Petroleum company's headquarters, built before the collapse of international shipping and the strike which saw the blockage of the docks by the boat graveyard. On the way they passed through a maze of collapsed buildings, washed away roads and haphazard construction, much of which was being handled by his own construction firm.

Thomas's stocks looked good that morning.

Through the secure entrance, he was met by Ms. Cornell, a young, attractive blonde with a degree in business administration and a willingness to do whatever needed to be done to ensure she climbed the ladder with Thomas. She'd already picked out the color of her upholstery in the executive office manager position for when Rennick was forced to retire and Thomas took his place.

"Brandish and Lady Photon are already in your anteroom," she said. She handed him a cup of coffee and a stack of files.

"Thank you, Tiffany. Anything else on the books?"

"You have a meeting with Mayor Christner at 2:00 pm, and Director Rennick wants you on a conference call with the Chief Director at four."

He appreciated the fact she stressed the last. It would be his first call with the Chief Director since his appointment as assistant director. "Well, let's go see what the inestimable New Wave wants to talk about," he said as he walked toward his office.

In the first reality, Coil followed Mr. Pitter through the narrow, easily defendable halls of his primary underground base to the rooms where he kept his special guests. Circus, for instance, lived in that wing.

For security purposes, the other Parahumans he employed were housed at his Beta facility.

A slight man with slumped shoulders and an unassuming posture and voice, Mr. Pitter provided a good example of how effective Coil's methods were. He was a victim, first and foremost. A compassionate pediatric nurse, Mr. Pitter discovered his wife was unfaithful. When he attempted to divorce her, she began accusing him of molesting his patients, to an extent of even falsifying evidence.

The courts and media automatically assumed he was guilty. One local anchorwoman even made a point of saying how he looked just like a child molester, which was nonsense. Child molesters looked just like everyone else. All it took to win Mr. Pitter's undying, absolutely loyalty—loyalty strong enough to even drug a kidnapped child—was to make Mrs. Pitter disappear.

The two of them reached his pet's room and stepped inside.

The girl wore loose shorts and a t-shirt. The room smelled strongly of sweat. He didn't bother mentioning it, though, because he could see Mr. Pitter's nostrils flaring. The man would take care of it.

"Good morning, pet," he said gently.

A head of tousled hair rose up from the pillow. Her eyes were ringed and half-lidded. Her face looked shallow and thin, and in fact her whole body looked emaciated. "It's morning?" she whispered. "Why?"

_What an odd question._ "It is morning. Can you tell me what the chances are of any problems here in the next hour? Before lunch?"

"Candy?"

"It's too early for Candy, Pet. Answer the question, please."

She winced. "Head hurts. Need candy."

"Answer the question, please."

Recently, he'd noticed that his pet's face became oddly blank when she accessed her power. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was her effort to overcome the pain her power caused her.

"Zero point five, five six percent chance there's any problems right here in the next hour. Two point eight eight nine before lunch."

The numbers sounded good. He considered the odd phrasing, but dismissed it. Her power demanded she answer, but she was too young and now too addicted to attempt circumlocution. "Pet, will Quintessence cooperate with my plans today?"

"It hurts," she whimpered.

"I know. Perhaps you can have some candy later. Answer the question, please."

"Ninety four percent."

"Good, very good. One last question, Dinah. Chances of trouble with any of my other assets today."

"Ninety-two percent chance of a problem." A brief wince broke the dull look on her face.

Coil, though tensed. He quickly went through possible scenarios. He'd been working hard to play the remnants of the Empire against Lung and so far the fighting had kept both gangs off balance, but neither should have been aware of his meddling.

Coil frowned. "Chances of it being at the PRT?"

She whimpered. "Two percent."

"Chances of it being at the Gamma site?"

"One point five eight two."

"Chances of Alpha site?"

"Ninety-nine point eight," she said. She sobbed. "It hurts bad."

Alpha site was the location he held Echidna and the Travelers. It was, in fact, his primary base for many years. It was only because of his need to house and maintain the monstrous creature that Noelle Meinhardt had become that he'd moved his command operations to his Beta site. Still, only a few people even knew about it.

He wasn't _ready _to release Noelle on the city, not yet.

He dismissed the first timeline entirely. He was just Thomas Calvert, assistant director of the PRT, walking through the halls of the PRT's temporary headquarters. He immediately branched off a second timeline. In the original remaining timeline, he continued toward his meeting with New Wave. In his second, he reached into a pocket and activated his phone's ringer. He paused and pulled out his phone.

"Blast," he said with not entirely feigned annoyance. "Tiffany, I'm sorry, could you let New Wave know something came up? Offer them the first available slot on my calendar."

"Of course, sir," Tiffany said obligingly.

Thomas, meanwhile, slipped his PRT phone back into his pants and removed a second, tinker-made phone whose encryptions could not be deciphered by anyone without the second, keyed phone. He waited until he heard the answering code to speak.

"Captain, I have reason to believe Site Alpha may be attacked. I don't have the numbers or disposition of the attacking Force, but we can't risk any possible exposure. You're authorized to take at least fifty men to defend that location at all costs. Please encourage the other guests there to cooperate, and then afterward prepare Theta site for a transfer."

"_Understood, sir._"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"She's coming," Taylor said.

Lisa opened her good eye and stared at her, scarred face blank. To sell the illusion that Taylor was falling under the wounded woman's influence, they'd taken to sharing the bottom, full-sized bunk. Both found it ironic that Coil, despite being a dangerous supervillain, was still such a man that he couldn't believe two girls could share a bed without being intimate.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on the monster's part.

Regardless, Taylor rolled smoothly out of the bed and, blushing in a deep rage with the knowledge that she was being watched, pulled on a functional pair of shorts and a top. She then walked to the little bathroom in the corner, just out of the scope of the camera.

Yuki appeared just behind her, flat against the wall. She had a few droplets of sweat on her brow from the effort of carrying what looked like a lightsaber in her hand.

"Hey, lover," she whispered with a brilliant smile. "Got your second message yesterday afternoon."

She handed the saber to Taylor, who accepted it with a raised brow. "You finished it?"

"Yeah. What do you think?"

"I think it's brilliant."

"So, um…are you sure it should be me doing this and not Panacea?"

Taylor shook her head. "Dinah and I are sure. Panacea _has_ to be at the other location. But I know you can do it. If you were able to carry this, you can do it. Your power is Manton limited, but the bomb in my head isn't organic. Now open your mind to mine, like we're meditating."

Across the room, Lisa Wilbourne made a point of slowly getting dressed for the camera, giving the mercenaries behind it a show to distract them. Unfortunately, it was distracting Yuki too.

"Concentrate," Taylor said.

"Yeah, right. Okay."

The two quickly fell into a practiced, mutual meditation. As their powers merged, Taylor directed their gestalt mind deep within her own body. And there, within the Force-infused flesh and blood of her own skull, she could see the pea-sized mass lodged in the back of her left sinus cavity.

_What if I mess up?_ Yuki's thoughts and worries infused their bond.

_You won't._

Not words, not precisely. Instead, Taylor infused the thought with confidence, faith and utter trust. She felt Yuki lean over her and then fade out of existence. She couldn't even feel her in the Force, such was the power of her breaker state.

A moment later, she stood in front of Taylor with a brilliant grin and a bloody, pea-sized marble in her hand.

"Now Lisa," Taylor whispered. She stood and walked back into view of the camera. "You're turn," she said loudly.

Lisa snorted. "About time."

As Yuki worked to remove the bomb, Taylor reached out in the Force to Dinah. _Be ready_.

She felt the girl's fear, eagerness, but also an even more intense level of trust than what Yuki felt.

Meanwhile, Yuki had the bomb out of Lisa's head. She handed them to the wide-eyed Thinker before disappearing again. Taylor made a point of stretching for the cameras, flushing even as she very intentionally bent over so the cameras could see her ass.

Not two minutes later, Yuki returned with a third silver pea. "Got it," she said, not bothering to whisper. She tossed it to Taylor, who caught it telekinetically.

"Lisa, if you will?"

The burned girl tossed the two small bombs from her and Taylor, which Taylor also levitated. With the Force, she could feel the mechanisms inside, miniaturized in a way she couldn't understand. What she could understand, though, was the tiny emergency trip switch that would have allowed Coil, his chosen surrogate, or the bomb maker herself, to set the bombs off.

She levitated the three marbles to the two thick dead-bolts that secured the door, despite Coil's assertion she could walk out at any time, and activated them, two at the bottom, one at the top.

In retrospect, her Dinah Alcott-infused visions of the future did not quite capture just how powerful the tiny explosives were. It was only the warning in the Force that gave Taylor the chance to summon her most powerful Force shield. The shield acted as a directional charge of the explosions, which didn't just blow out the deadbolts, but which vaporized the door and its surrounded frame, and liquified the mercenary just beyond it.

Alarms went off as Taylor rushed out, Yuki's saber in hand. Another mercenary stood near Dinah's door. The explosion was so powerful he was just at that moment picking himself up off the floor.

Taylor didn't bother with the stun setting, not for men who would willingly let a child be treated the way these men did. She'd already sliced through the door deadbolts by the time the man's head hit the floor. Dinah tried standing weakly as the heavily reinforced door fell.

"Can you walk?" Taylor asked.

"I…I…why won't my legs work right?" the girl said. Her eyes were dilated and her hands shook.

A second later Lisa was there, rushing past Taylor to pick the precog up. "The drugs Coil gives her," she said, by way of explanation.

"Yuki, stay with her. I feel like my lightsabers are here, on the base."

"If they are, they'll be in Coil's safe," Lisa said. "I know where it is."

Taylor led the way down the hall. Three swipes of Yuki's smaller, lighter but no less effective lightsaber had the door freed from its hinges, with a Force-push to blast it into the hallway beyond.

They emerged in what looked like a small gymnasium or high-ceilinged garage. She saw railings for a balcony that ran around the entire square space. The entire garage was bathed in a pulsing red light, and the air shivered with the sound of a grating siren.

Just inside the door set in the wall opposite, she spotted a glass-enclosed control room that had a perfect angle to view both the far exit from the garage, and the door form which she just exited. Inside, two men in uniforms that could have come right from a PRT armory rose from their seats in alarm.

Rather than attack with her borrowed saber, Taylor raised a hand and _pushed._

The glass wall imploded. Like the glass, the two men within shattered as they first hit the wall behind them, and then were hit in turn by the giant desk and then a shower of shattered, shatter-proof glass. Both crumpled insensate to the floor, possibly not to rise again.

Overhead, alarms that before were a low whine suddenly increased in pitch and volume. Taylor walked calmly into the middle of the tidy, immaculate two-story garage. Crates of weapons and ammunition were neatly stacked along the walls under the second-floor catwalks, and black tire marks showed where vans came and went, but the floor at that moment was empty. She was aware of Yuki, Lisa and Dinah scurrying further down the hall away from her, but the Force assured her they would be safe as long as she remained the center of attention.

She switched the blade to its highest training setting.

A long moment passed where all she could hear or see were sirens and flashing lights. The moment ended when soldiers began spilling out of the second-floor rooms and lining up on the balcony with their weapons at the ready. The bulky weapons began barking out short bursts of barely visible red light.

Taylor was no longer the terrified, angry escapee. She was Bendu. She had a saber, and the Force was hers.

She exploded into motion, launching herself in a Force-powered leap onto the second level. A quick telekinetic toggle put her blade back in training mode, but with the stun setting at its highest. She immersed herself completely in the Force and let it guide her movements. Her blade deflected the Tinker-tech lasers and vaporized the bullets at speeds she could not have consciously followed.

She made no attempt to, surrendering herself so completely to the Force it felt almost as if she'd stepped outside of herself—almost like she stood within a dream, watching as saber-wielding Taylor wreaked havoc through the base. The floor of the garage looked as if it were carpeted with barely moving bodies of groaning men and women.

Taylor felt a surge of danger in the Force behind her. She cart-wheeled over the railing of the balcony, twisted mid-air, and came to her feet back on the first level in one of the few spots not covered by men. She then back-flipped out of the way of a massive hammer that struck the concrete floor hard enough to break it.

A new cape faced her, this one wearing an elaborate harlequin costume as if he…or she were the jester in some long-forgotten king's court. The figure of Circus stood grinning angrily at Taylor, her Harlequin-inspired clown costume hiding her gender.

"Oh, look at the little dear!" she said. "Don't you just look so adorable, thinking you're all tha…Umph!"

Taylor gripped the villain with her power, squeezing hard enough for his eyes to bulge in pain. "Shut up, please.

The cape screamed when Taylor slammed her repeatedly not against the floor, but the ceiling, before bringing him/her back down to the floor so hard the villain lost all sense of her hammer. Taylor then spun and struck the cape twice on the head with her saber.

"Wow."

Yuki walked back out of the hall, clad in her neoprene breaker suit with a bright pink robe thrown over her shoulders. She carried a pair of familiar lightsabers in her hand. "You kicked their asses."

"Your saber helped. It's an excellent blade, Yuki, you...hmmm."

Whatever else she might have said was lost in Yuki's searing, desperate kiss, and the shorter girl's arms around her neck.

"I told you not to go," Yuki said when the kiss parted. She backed away. "I told you not to go! Nothing good comes from Leviathan. What if you'd died! Now everyone knows who you are and…and…you left me! You fucking left me! I thought you loved me but you left me, and…and…Obsidian came and almost killed me! But he didn't. And Entourage called and said she…they broke her knees, Taylor! Because of us. And…and…"

"And she saved our lives," a new, tired voice said from behind them.

Yuki and Taylor both turned to see Lisa walk out with a passed-out Dinah Alcott in her arms. With her horrid scars and the skin-and-bones look of Dinah, the two looked as if they'd just escaped from hell. Which, Taylor admitted, was close to the truth.

"Where's Pitter?" Taylor asked.

"The sad guy with glasses?" Yuki asked. "I hit him a few times with your sabers. He's sleeping. Oh, yeah, your sabers."

They switched, and Taylor couldn't help but feet relief with the blades in hand. She turned to Lisa. "Anything else you need here?"

"No, I took care of everything while you were fighting," Lisa said with a somber expression. "We need to get out of here."

Taylor took Dinah from Lisa's trembling arms. Though the girl was actually taller than Yuki, she was so malnourished she felt like a paperweight in Taylor's arms. They walked toward the far exit of the garage.

"Yuki?"

Yuki activated her saber with a _snap-hiss_, switched it to blue, and easily cut a passage for them. Beyond was a steep, curving ramp. They trudged up slowly, exhausted from their long captivity or, in Yuki's case, the long drive to save them.

"Yuki?"

"Yeah, Taylor?"

"Thank you. You were pretty awesome."

"Yeah, I know. Can we go home now, you think?"

They emerged from the garage onto an average-looking street in the edges of downtown Brockton Bay. The buildings across from them were no more than three or four stories tall, brownstones for the workers who used to run the textile factories. But what caught her attention was the police tape and PRT transport vans that formed a hemisphere around the mouth of the garage. Dozens upon dozens of PRT agents and police officers stood behind their various vehicles with weapons pointed at them.

Just beyond them, Taylor counted no less than a dozen television cameras.

What really caught her attention, though, was the figure floating a few feet off the ground directly in front of them. The cape's costume was composed of a segmented platinum chest plate over a tight green body suit, with a voluminous green robe dancing in the slight breeze that blew down the street. His mask looked almost like glass, growing less opaque and more solid as it went from his chin to his eyes. The mask was partially hidden by a large green cowl which seemed to carry a glow.

The most powerful cape in the world floated directly in front of them.

"Is that Eidolon?" Yuki asked with a startled squeal. "That's so awesome! Do you think I could have his autograph?"

Taylor ignored her girlfriend and instead turned to glare at Lisa. The burned cape seemed to shrink in on herself, her smile turning bitter.

"Sorry, kiddo. Trust me, it was the only way this could end."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Coil collapses the timeline in which Brandish received a phone call and then immediately arrested him. In the new primary timeline he is talking on his phone, ordering the team defending Alpha Base to break away at first availability and to activate the S-Class contingencies while walking quickly toward the garage.

"_Unable to comply!" _one of his captain's yells. "_The fuckin' capes turned on us. Echidna has been neutralized by Panacea! Repeat, Echidna has been neutralized by Pana…Arrghhh!"_

At that moment Coil branches off a new timeline, in which he instead runs toward the armory. In the first timeline, he runs into the garage to acquire a transport to escape the PRT building. His path is blocked by a squad of PRT soldiers accompanied by Assault and Battery.

"Hello, there, Assistant Director, Sir!" the former villain turned hero says with a hungry grin. "What's the hurry, there? Legend's coming in, says the Chief Director wants to have a word with you."

Coil dropped that timeline. He is now running to the armory. He branches off a tertiary timeline and makes the secondary his primary path. In the armory, the quartermaster asks a question only to receive a bullet through his forehead for the trouble. Coil quickly and efficiently dons full PRT armor with helmet and mask before running toward the garage. He dumps his PRT issued phone down a recycling bin in the hallway.

In his secondary timeline, he veers off and runs toward the roof, instead. The PRT has Blackhawk helicopters on loan from the National Guard for quick deployment. The last message he had on his phone before it was locked out of the network was a call for deployments to both the Alpha and Beta site, and that Eidolon was in play. His entire operation had been compromised somehow.

In his secondary timeline, he reaches the roof. Armsmaster stands at the door to the roof, one-armed, waiving from exhaustion and unhealed injures, while asking every single soldier a single question: "Are you Coil?"

Though it isn't widely known, the Tinker has a fairly effective lie detector built into his helmet.

Coil makes a show of stopping and placing a hand on the helmet near his ear.

"Sir?" he says aloud. "Very well, I'm going now."

It seemed convincing to the other soldiers. It does not, however, convince Armsmaster. Coil has only a moment's notice before he feels a sharp prick through the fabric of his pants in the back of his thigh, followed by a terrifying flood of cold that sweeps up through his veins.

He drops that timeline.

He runs into the garage in full armor, flanked by twenty other PRT agents in gear. Mouse Protector stands by the van, sword and shield in hand. After her fall from grace with her public show of brutality, she was forced to join the Protectorate. Unlike Armsmaster, she doesn't have the ability to detect lies. He splits the timeline up and heads to a different transport in each timeline.

In each timeline, a male voice shouts: "That one."

Thomas frowns—the voice sounds just like that post-cog Thinker, Nutcracker, who Alexandria brought in from Seattle to investigate Quintessence.

Mouse Protector, for all her occasionally cruel, child-like sense of humor, also happens to be a powerful cape. In the blink of an eye, she teleports to his secondary timeline's persona. In desperation he tries to deploy the foam sprayer he carries.

He drops the timeline shortly before her sword cleaves off his head. The Protectorate, for some reason, has authorized lethal force. He realizes with a chilling clarity that if he does more than run—if he fights back or resists in any way—he will die.

Back in his remaining timeline, when Mouse Protector teleports right in front of him, he drops his sprayer and holds up his hands.

"I surrender," he says quickly. For some reason, the Prokofiev Toccata from that morning continues to ring in his mind.


	31. A Last Thread

A/N: Chap 30 review responses are in my forums as normal.

Warning: Subverted Expectations ahead. Except EVA-Saiyajin's expectations, which were remarkably prescient.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One: A Last Thread**

Taylor sat in a small, white-walled cube without windows. A thick, heavy collar hung like burning ice around her neck, with smaller but similar collars on both her wrists and her ankles.

The bright orange jump suit wasn't very comfortable, but it was the prison-issued underwear that really bothered her.

No, she corrected herself. If she thought about it, what really bothered her was the fact that she almost died fighting Leviathan and saving thousands of people in a hospital, only to be kidnapped by a psychopathic pervert with a God complex. She finally escapes and saves the day and the girls, and her reward?

An eight-foot square box of reinforced titanium walls and a little toilet/fountain in the corner.

Facing Eidolon and who knew how many police and PRT agents, with an unconscious girl in her arms, Taylor didn't like her chances. The Force's screaming warning in her head liked her chances even less. So when Eidolon said simply, "Surrender", she did.

PRT agents rushed toward her, foam sprayers at the ready.

"This is the mayor's niece!" Taylor shouted as they approached. "She's been abused by Coil for weeks now. She needs medical attention."

"Put her down on the pavement, I'll see to it," the hero said. He had a deep, commanding voice.

Taylor levitated Dinah toward Eidolon's feet, then slowly raised her hands. Beside her, Lisa muttered, "I hate this part."

Yuki made an odd whimpering sound, and then all was lost in white foam.

The spray that washed the foam off felt like oil, and shot out from a pair of nozzles in the very same room she now sat in. After the foam removing spray, a harsh female voice ordered her to strip, after which she was sprayed like a carwash with alternating showers of soap and water from the walls.

The water ran between grates that appeared to be built into the floor through tiny drain holes. Something about the surface didn't allow the water to pool at all—she couldn't see any droplets clinging to the walls or the shelf that served as her chair and bed. Hot air blew at her from the vents, drying her quickly but making a nightmare of her hair.

By the time it was done, she looked as if she'd been playing tongue hockey with an electrical outlet. A slot in the featureless white wall appeared and a tray slid in, revealing the underwear, jumpsuit, and collars.

"_Put 'em on. If you refuse, we'll foam you and keep you in the foam_."

Taylor dressed slowly, fighting back a heavy feeling of emptiness. She slipped on the heavy collar at the speaker's direction, then the bracelets and anklets.

"_Trust me, little girl," _the harsh voice said. "_You do not want those devices going off. Do everything I say, or you'll regret it."_

Taylor couldn't even sense where the speaker was coming from, much less formulate any type of escape. So, numb and lost, she sat on the hard surface of the ledge and wished, more than anything in the world, that her mom or dad would come walking through that door.

"_Remain seated at all times,_" the voice ordered.

Taylor didn't understand why the order came, until abruptly the room began to expand. She gripped the edge of the seat because she could feel her side of the cell sliding away from the door. As it did so, she saw a little square of slightly different metal exposed in the floor. As soon as it was clear, it rose up on its own, unfolding into a table roughly the size of a card table.

The wall opposite developed a seam that didn't exist a second ago, and then opened to reveal blinding white light and a rush of freezing cold air that forced her to both close her eyes and turn her head. By the time it was over, she was no longer alone in the room.

In the grand scheme of things, being captured by Eidolon himself made Taylor consider that she might be visited by Alexandria, or the Chief Director of the PRT, or someone nationally known and really important.

Instead, an elderly gentleman stood across the table with a thick portfolio in one hand and a folding metal chair in the other.

And he was a gentleman. He wore a classic four-piece suit and tie with a burgundy vest underneath. He had what looked like a pocket watch in his right breast pocket, and a burgundy kerchief in his left. The only jewelry he sported was a single plain wedding band.

The man himself appeared tall and dignified, with a clean-shaven face that was still very handsome despite his age. He still had a full head of silver-white hair that made the sky-blue of his eyes stand out even more. He calmly placed the portfolio on the table, unfolded the chair with some small effort, and then sat down.

"Good morning, Miss Hebert."

He had a deep, mellifluous voice that spoke of training and projection. He spoke as if he'd addressed whole auditoriums in the past.

"Is it morning, still?"

"For an hour or so, yes. You've had a busy morning. Are you injured? Do you require anything?"

"No."

For the longest time he simply sat and regarded her in silence. Finally, though, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a white tissue, which he handed over to her.

At first she didn't understand why, until she realized there were tears on her cheeks.

"I suppose introductions are in order. I, of course, know who you are. The PRT has been investigating your circumstances in detail almost since your capture, though I understand a second, even more thorough investigation was initiated by Alexandria after your appearance in Seattle. I am your attorney, Ronald Jansen."

The name rang a bell, but all she could think of for some reason was the Saint Crispin's day speech from Henry V. Almost unthinkingly, she spoke the line that stayed with her most clearly. "_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…_"

The old man's face turned from sympathy to a shining moment of genuine affection. "_For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother._ You know the Bard?"

"My mother was a professor of literature," Taylor admitted. "You're…_the_ Ron Jansen? The actor. Mother always said yours was the best performance of Henry the V put to film."

The old man laughed gaily. "Oh, I'm quite fond of Branagh's take, truly."

She shrugged. "Directing wise? Maybe. But the performance? Yours was better. But…what are you…?"

"Well, let's say my acting days are far behind me. I now have the privilege of being the Advocate General of the Youth Guard."

That's when Taylor remembered the rest of this man's story. He was most famous for what ended his acting career—his daughter's brief and tragic career as a Ward led him to create and run the Youth Guard.

"I thought you only worked for Wards."

"I work with young people who want to do good with their power, regardless of their circumstances," Jansen assured her calmly. "And you, Taylor Hebert, despite all the hardship and tragedy in your life, chose to use your power to heal and protect. By any reasonable definition, that makes you a hero."

He smiled at her; a gentle, grandfatherly smile. "More immediately, the fact that you enrolled in your local Youth Guard office for continuing education makes you eligible for free representation. That was probably the best decision you could have made."

"Tell that to the heroes in charge."

"My dear, who do you think called me in?" He opened his portfolio and removed two thick, bulging manila folders. "Before we begin, I think it beneficial for you to know all the facts. First, your friend…Yurei, was her cape name? She has been returned to Seattle. The PRT did not find any proof she'd actually committed any crimes.

"While she is a minor, her home circumstances are such that the Youth Guard determined returning her to her home would not be beneficial, and she was quite adamant about not joining the Wards. Like yourself, the fact that you registered her with the local Youth Guard for continuing education worked a great deal in her favor. As far as I know, she is on her back in your home."

Taylor couldn't help but sigh in relief. Yuki, at least, was safe.

"And Dinah?"

"Miss Alcott is safely at home with her parents. And the second of Coil's victims you saved, the young cape named Tattletale, is cooperating with the PRT investigation into the extent of Coil's operation. Those of Coil's men who died in your escape are being treated as justifiable homicides by the district attorney's office."

"Lisa's the one who called the PRT to arrest me, isn't she?"

"She is. And I'm glad she did, because she knew certain important pieces of information that you likely did not at the time."

"Such as?"

"The first, and most important? You are not going to the Birdcage. No matter what, short of you going on a murderous rampage, the Birdcage has been removed from the table."

For a long moment she found it difficult to believe. She remembered Agnes Court saying something similar, but it just seemed impossible to believe. But she also remembered the paper headline. "By whom?"

"Among the many? The entire Triumvirate and the Chief Director of the PRT, not to mention the entire staff of the Brockton Bay Memorial Hospital, New Wave, the mayor's office, and even the mother of one of your victims, a Zoe Barnes. I understand a Ward in Seattle who goes by the cape name of Ashwinder threatened to burn down the Birdcage if they tried to put you there."

Taylor found herself glad of the tissue she clutched in her hand. Aunt Zoe testified for her?

"I wish I could tell you that everything will be fine, but we do have some decisions to make," Jansen continued. "I am your attorney. I am working for you, not the PRT or Youth Guard. It is my mission to achieve the best outcome for you that I can, but I will only do so if you agree. Do you understand?"

Taylor nodded.

He opened one of the folders. "After reviewing all of the facts and circumstances in your case, the only charges that federal prosecutors have any chance of winning are for the death of Miss Militia and the assault and battery charges and resisting arrest charges for your fights with Mouse Protector and Narwhal. Of those, Mouse Protector's actions were extreme enough they would be a fool to pursue that particular line."

He opened up a second folder. "Against those charges, we have a list of heroic actions. Your fight against the Bratva that resulted in saving almost a hundred US residents from a short, vicious lifetime of sexual slavery in the Chinese Union Imperial. Your participation in the fight against Overmind, and your later testimony on Overmind's behalf. Your clinic. And, of course, your efforts during the Leviathan fight. The ledger is rather heavy toward heroism."

He clasped his hands and studied her intently. "If you wish, we can fight the charges in court. Your initial sentence has been set aside since it was made _in absentia_. This is standard practice when dealing with capes that cannot be contained for trial. While we have a significant list of character references, no one can deny that you killed Miss Militia. Unfortunately, Coil released that footage very early in your cape life and it is now public knowledge.

"If we go to trial, you will be tried as an adult, and will face up to 30 years imprisonment. The prosecutor will play on the public fear of capes, just as they are doing in Boston with young Canary. There is a chance we will lose."

"What other options do we have?"

"The Prosecutor's office has made an offer you should consider carefully. In return for a guilty plea to a second degree of manslaughter, they are offering six months in a Youth Detention Center and two years' probation if, and only if, you agree to join the Wards."

Taylor sat, head bowed, as around her everything seemed to contract into one long, flat, empty plain. That's what it all came down to, she realized. Control. The PRT, the Protectorate, everyone—they wanted to control her. And if she were a Ward, especially a probationary one, they could tell her what to do, what to say, how to act.

It would just be a different type of prison.

"I think I'd rather face prison," she finally said. She could hear the bitterness in her own voice.

Jansen leaned back, his face now carefully schooled. "It's your decision, and I will abide by it. But I would like you to at least sleep on it, okay? We'll speak again tomorrow. Your arraignment is schedule for the day after."

He stood and walked out, taking his portfolio and the folding chair with him. The light and the cold air once again forced Taylor to look away. After he was gone, the table sank back down into the floor and the room closed in on itself again.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Meditation did not come easily. The simple discomfort of sitting on a metal ledge was enough to derail her train of thought. When she managed to dismiss the low-grade ache in her ass from sitting on cold metal, she found herself thinking about her visions and what they meant; of Scion and the identical avatars that swept through destroying an entire galaxy.

With that thought came a crushing despair; that everything she knew and loved was destined to die. Because, really, what could one person do against a god?

The door opened. Taylor looked up, surprised. No flash of light or cold or hot wind to make her blink away. No warning not to move. The door simply opened to reveal a tall, athletic figure in a skin-tight dark gray body suit framed by a heavy cape that hung almost to the floor.

_Alexandria._

"Walk with me," the famous heroine said without preamble.

Taylor didn't even think about disobeying. Just the thought of getting out of her cell was enough to propel her to her feet. The prison slippers she had on were so thin, she might as well have been barefoot.

The two emerged in a short hall. There were two other heavy metal doors like hers, but she couldn't sense anyone within them. Alexandria led her into a surprisingly large freight elevator. The went up and emerged in another long, empty hallway, before entering a smaller elevator that went up again.

When the elevator opened, fresh ocean air picked at Taylor's hair. She stepped out after Alexandria to find herself not in the PRT headquarters, but on the Rig itself. Granted, the Protectorate headquarters now rested on the edge of the shattered boardwalk because of Leviathan's attack, but somehow the converted ocean oil rig still stood. It's forcefield was down, but unlike most of downtown, it had its own power supply and had a search light flashing over the city like the Eye of Sauron.

More importantly, though, she could see the Bay she grew up on. She could feel the breeze across her face after days stuck in that room in Coil's base; after the day spent in her cell below. She closed her eyes and pulled the air in through her nose, exulting in the smell of the ocean.

And…a chowder? She opened her eyes and blinked to find a small section of fake grass dotted with bistro tables and chairs in a cordoned off section of the Rig's roof. Alexandria motioned her toward one of the tables, upon which she saw and smelled a bread bowl filled with a thick clam chowder, with a glass of coffee milk beside it.

"I don't believe they've fed you yet," Alexandria said. She sat down at the table in front of a second bread bowl. "Eat while you can. Level Ten prisoners only get fed twice a day."

Taylor had seen Alexandria punch Leviathan hard enough to send the 30-foot-monster flying back. She could have easily punched through Taylor's skull. Given that Taylor was already secured and a prisoner, there didn't seem to be any point in lying or poisoning her. So, she sat.

"Thank you."

The chowder was as good as it smelled. The bacon was cut thick, though the cilantro in it gave it a slightly different profile that she found she liked. She ate every bite of the chowder, and then the soaked sourdough bread bowl as well.

When it was gone, she sat in silence at a bistro table on top of a converted oil rig, watching the sun sink toward the western horizon. When Alexandria spoke, it seemed almost as if they began in the middle of an old conversation.

"We thought we could win, of course," the older cape said abruptly. "How could we not? Me and Legend, Eidolon and Hero. We four were the most powerful capes in the world, it seemed. From '86 through to '92, it felt like we were going to win. Even after Behemoth crawled out of the ground in Iran, or when Leviathan emerged, we felt like between the four of us we had to win. We were so powerful. But then the Siberian killed Hero and ripped out my eye, and two years later the Simurgh emerged, and I started to doubt. By then we'd been fighting Behemoth for a decade and knew he wasn't just another Parahuman. And I began to doubt. I began to fear. The nine years since then has only made it worse."

Taylor said nothing, watching the hero. In the gentle light of the setting sun, her visor seemed to hint at the face behind it. Her exposed chin revealed thin lips pursed together pensively.

She turned and regarded Taylor frankly. "Rebecca made a terrible mistake when she signed your Birdcage order. I'd like to say it was the first time, but I'd be lying. Despite the best we can do, we still make mistakes. No matter how hard we fight, we still lose. And no matter how important we are, we still die. Hero proved that. And so did Miss Militia. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"I am too."

Taylor didn't mean to speak, but the words came out almost on their own. When she thought about it, though, she realized she meant it. And with those words, something caught in her chest and made breathing hard. It felt as if a terrible, great weight that had been crushing her heart for months was gone. It's absence was almost, in itself, painful. She looked away and stared across the city through bleary eyes.

Alexandria nodded before turning back to face the sunset. She didn't say anything, likely realizing how powerful and wrenching Taylor's three words were. When she did speak again, she did so with a low, calm despair.

"We're losing, Taylor. Within the next ten to fifteen years, the Endbringers alone will damage the world's infrastructure beyond repair. Those governments that still exist will collapse; civilization will shrink inland, dispersing from each other into more and more isolated groups, likely controlled by parahuman warlords like what we're seeing in Africa today, and then…"

Taylor thought of the golden avatar from her visions. "And then Scion."

Alexandria's head snapped around to stare. Though she couldn't see Alexandria's eyes, she met the gaze squarely through her unshed tears. After a long silence, Alexandria finally nodded.

"You're going to accept the plea deal, Taylor. You'll serve your six months so the Chevaliers and Armsmasters of the Protectorate won't revolt, and when you're out you're going to officially join the Wards."

"Officially?"

"Officially. Unofficially? If you'll accept, I want you working for me. You'll have your own team to lead. You can stay in Seattle if you want. You'll answer to me or someone I specifically appoint, and yes, I'll make sure they're someone you can stand. And your job will be nothing less than trying to save the world."

"Why? Why me, after all this?"

Alexandria smiled dryly. "Because a twelve-year-old girl told us our odds were better if it was you."

Taylor tore her gaze aware from a hero she'd once worshipped. "Did you tell Gabriella about me?"

"Of course," Alexandria said with a wry laugh. "She used to work in an office tower three blocks from the LA Protectorate. We realized fairly early how big a mistake we made with you when you woke up in Dragon's transport. Dragon was very distraught over the conversation she had with you. She realized almost immediately that your entire episode with Miss Militia was what we sometimes call a trigger fugue—a psychotic episode that sometimes follows powerful triggers. But by then it was too late. Coil released the footage of you killing Miss Militia. Even when you first triggered, he was hoping to recruit you by forcing you into villainy."

"Why too late, though?"

Alexandria met her stare squarely. "Civilians hate capes, Taylor. The Protectorate put itself under civilian oversight to preserve as much of our civilization as we could, while we could. But when those who fear us are given an excuse to destroy us, they will. Coil gave the Brockton Bay prosecutors an excuse to destroy you. More than that, he was conspiring with a few attorneys with close ties to you to further influence the judge who was originally slated to try your case. We put a stop to that."

"Who's we?"

"Nutcracker, primarily."

"Nutcracker? He was the post-cog at Bayview West?"

"Yes. He's the one who arrested Alan Barnes for obstruction of justice half an hour ago. Mr. Barnes was using his political and legal connections to try and ensure you were sent to the Birdcage, including bribery. And he was doing so as one of Coil's unwitting pawns."

"Oh." Taylor remembered the cape—skinny, with heavy cheeks and a receding hairline. "So say I agree to all this. What about Yuki? Or our clinic? Our home?"

It felt odd, how intensely the older woman studied her. "I'm older than I look, Taylor. I've helped train generations of young capes. At your age, it's difficult to distinguish between love, lust, infatuation or desperation. It can be hard to spot a lie when the liar believes it as truth. But then again, you know that, don't you? Do you love her?"

Taylor opened her mouth to say that of course she loved Yuki, but for some reasons the words didn't come as easily as they should have. Instead, she played it safe.

"She saved me from Coil. She came all the way to Brockton Bay to save me."

"Because she worships you as her own savior," Alexandria pointed out. "Not quite the same as romantic love. Still, to answer your question—there will be conditions and requirements that you have to meet after your sentence is served. But you'll be sixteen by then. The Youth Guard will assist you in getting yourself emancipated. As long as you go to school, and follow the law, you'd be allowed to live in your own home."

The whole situation just felt so surreal.

"Why the soft sell?" She pointed to the Tinker Tech device which was little better in nature than the bomb Coil put in her head. "I'm already in your power."

"Again, because a very smart young girl said our odds are much better if you're on our side. Even if I didn't genuinely believe it was the right approach, after almost thirty years of fighting Endbringers, I'm practical enough to do what's necessary. Why do you think we let Lung walk around free? It was against the hope he might fight an Endbringer again. Now that we know he won't, his days are numbered."

"Will I have to stay here? This city hates me."

"No. You'll be transferred to Seattle. Make no mistake, Taylor. You _will_ be going to prison. It will only be for six months, but it will be prison. And parahumans in detention are watched like a hawk. One slip, and we have no choice but to slam the book at you. But we both know you can survive six months. You've survived the past five as a Birdcage escapee. Give me this six months, and I promise, you will be the hero you've always wanted to be."

Taylor looked away, hope and dread warring in her chest. There was so much she wanted to say to the first hero who had reached out to her, even if it was with an offer of servitude. She wanted to ask how Alexandria knew what Scion was. She wanted to demand to know why the Slaughterhouse Nine continued to be free.

She wanted…

"Is my dad…what did they…I mean…?"

"He had a prepaid lot," Alexandria said, somehow just knowing. "He's buried in the Brockton Memorial Cemetery next to your mother."

"Could I…could I see them? Before?"

"I'll arrange it."

"I…" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

On the morning of her first and only court hearing, Taylor stood in the Brockton Memorial Cemetery, established in 1684. The cemetery was only three blocks from the courthouse. Flanked by a small army of PRT agents, Nutcracker and the newly appointed head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, Dauntless, Taylor stood looking down at one gravestone she knew by heart, and one she dreaded seeing at all.

Annette Rose Hebert

1969-2008

_She taught something precious to each of us._

Daniel Joseph Hebert

1968-2011

_I fear no more. _

She simply stared, a feeling of numbness creeping through her mind. A voice at once alien and painfully familiar broke the brittle morning silence. Taylor looked up, and then choked as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

Zoe Barnes stood just a few feet away. Her daughter Anne lingered behind her, flanked by more PRT agents. Taylor's hands shook when she wiped her eyes.

"You…you shouldn't be here, Aunt Zoe. Not after…not after…" She couldn't finish the words.

"Oh God, I can't, Taylor," Zoe Barnes said. Her voice sounded ragged and breathless; her eyes brimmed with tears. "Annette and Danny would never forgive me. I can't walk away. I just can't. I've already failed you and Emma enough, I can't walk away again."

"It's too late!" The sudden angry shout surprised both women and caused the surrounding agents to tense. Taylor didn't care. "It's too late. You don't know what she did, Aunt Zoe! What she did to me. What she said. She took broke my mom's flute. She shoved me into that locker. Why? What did I do to deserve that?"

"Baby, it wasn't you," Zoe said. She was crying so hard the words slurred. "Oh God, I never knew, but it wasn't you. The ABB…they hurt her. And that…that Hess girl used it to twist my baby girl into a monster. It wasn't you, Taylor. It was never you. It was Emma. It was that Hess monster. And it was me. I didn't realize. I didn't ask why you never came over, and I'm so sorry. Oh baby, I'm so sorry."

Taylor's knees turned to jelly, dumping her on the grass at the foot of her parent's graves.

Nearby, the Protectorate hero Dauntless brandished his arclance, ready to strike while he had opportunity in case Taylor went on a spree, only to pause when Nutcracker placed a calm, restraining hand on his arm. Zoe Barnes stumbled to Taylor, fell to her own knees, and pulled the weeping girl into her arms.

Neither saw the line of reporters and cameramen on the edge of the cemetery, many with telescopic lenses on their television cameras.

When the worst of the fit passed, Taylor felt completely empty and spent.

"The Union handled his expenses," Zoe said softly, cradling Taylor as if she were her own daughter; cradling her just like she did two years ago, after her mother died.

Taylor motioned toward her father's gravestone. "I didn't know dad even knew that poem," she said thickly.

"We found it bookmarked in his lock box," Zoe explained. "It was a book Annette gave him before their wedding. She called him an ignorant philistine and hoped some poetry might make him a better man. The book was so worn he'd probably read it a thousand times. Donne's _Hymn to God the Father_ was highlighted. Kurt read it at the service."

There was so much Taylor needed to say to this woman. For those terrible months after her mother died, when her dad just gave up and crawled into a bottle, it was Zoe Barnes who fed her and hugged her and loved her. Emma might have given her a friendly ear to cry to, but it was Zoe Barnes who gave her the love she desperately wanted.

It hurt Taylor more than anything to know that Zoe Barnes lost her daughter because of her; just as much as Taylor lost her father and her life because of Emma. As much as she wanted to, though, the words wouldn't come. They _couldn't_ come. Whether through a lack of will or just a lack of understanding, Taylor couldn't possibly think of what she could say to make up for the fact that Emma Barnes was dead. That the woman who hugged her and gave her chocolate chip cookies lost her little girl because of Taylor.

"I don't know what to do," Taylor finally admitted.

Zoe sniffed and hugged Taylor closer.

"You're going to go to prison, Taylor. It's going to be horrible, and you're going to want to break out with that incredible power of yours. No matter how good your reasons, you killed a hero. But Taylor, six months is nothing. It's a semester in school. It's a blink of an eye. And after that, you're going to go back to school just like Annette would have wanted. You're going to be the best hero you can be, just like you dreamed of when you were little, and you're going to save the world, just like your mother and dad always thought you would."

"You make it sound easy."

"Maybe. We both know it's not, but we also both know you can do it."

They stood in the cold, surrounded by a light dusting of snow from the last storm. Their breaths billowed out in front of their faces as they stared down in silence. Finally, Taylor found the courage to say what needed saying.

"I never fought back. I always hoped she could be my friend again, so I never fought back."

Zoe sniffed again. "I know, baby."

Taylor kept her mental shields tightly shut. She could only imagine what the other woman was feeling, holding the girl who killed her daughter. "Am I ever going to see you again?"

The sniff turned into a sob. "I…I don't think so, Taylor."

As much as it hurt to hear, Taylor understood. She hugged the woman tightly before letting her go and stepping back. "Thank you," she sobbed. "For…for…thank you."

Zoe nodded, smiling through her tears, and cupped Taylor's cheek briefly before turning and joining her last living daughter to walk out of the cemetery.

Anne, Emma's older sister, smiled fleetingly at Taylor, but said nothing as she walked away at her mother's side.


	32. Crime and Punishment

A/N: Oops. Got everything prepared. Did my Chap 31 review responses. Went to do all the other billion things I have to do, and completely forgot to post the chapter. Sorry.

It's a short one.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Crime and Punishment**

"I ruined my dress."

Taylor had never owned a dress as nice as the one Ronald Jansen brought her for her hearing. It was a rich, deep teal that matched her eyes and hugged her slim figure.

"Nonsense, dear, it's just wet," Jansen said gently. "It'll be dry by the time we get to the courthouse." He handed her a tissue. She wondered if he had a whole packet in his jacket, but accepted it gratefully. She still felt numb.

"You asked her to be there."

"I merely told her you would be," Jansen returned. "She submitted a sworn statement to the court on your behalf. She did wish to see you again."

"Yeah." There didn't seem to be much else to say, Taylor was still too raw emotionally to process what just happened. So she walked beside her attorney, with two Protectorate heroes behind her and twenty hulking PRT agents in armor and foam dispensers, from the cemetary to the courthouse.

The PRT allowed her to go without her neck collar, but the bracelets and anklets felt heavy. She could see that the right anklet had already torn her hose where she fell. She continued walking anyway.

The worst thing about it, she decided, was that it was a beautiful day. May in Brockton Bay was the perfect temperature—hovering around seventy at its hottest, but never below fifty because of the ocean currents. If not for the army of people prepared to subdue or even kill her if she blinked wrong, and the horde of reports watching at a safe distance, it might seem like a beautiful morning walk.

Their destination was anything but. The Federal Courthouse was study in monolithic ugliness—a giant concrete square with square windows and no architectural features to speak of at all. It sat back from the street behind a series of concrete barricades. The US and New Hampshire flags were at half-mast due to the Endbringer attack.

The fact the building was intact and with power was a testament to how well the fight against Leviathan went, as well as the fact that, like the cemetery, the courthouse was situated in the highest areas of the downtown section of the city.

Leviathan's devastation started just four blocks south.

Unfortunately, the path to the courthouse doors was already lined with more reporters, as well as protestors. Some were holding up signs calling her the Winslow Simurgh. Others with signs that said, "ROT IN HELL!"

The hatred and raw emotions in the Force grew worse and worse as she approached the cordon the police had made for their entry. The moment she came into sight around the corner from the cemetery, people began shouting at her. The crowd surged toward her, hateful signs bouncing, only to pause when Dauntless strode forward and slammed his arclance into the street. A crash of thunder and a flash of lightning brought the crowd up short, and gave additional police and PRT agents the time needed to fall into position and hustle Taylor toward the door.

More uniformed officers from the court fell in around her, holding back the equally raucous onlookers _inside_ the building.

The courtroom, when they came to it, felt oddly…small. It didn't look like a broad, imposing atmospheric cathedral with balconies that Taylor always thought of from movies like _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or _Inherit the Wind._ Instead, it looked like an old brick conference room from a bank. The ceiling felt low and oppressive, the brick walls were painted a light blue that had faded with time and usage to a weak, sky-tinted white. Ratty old office-gray Berber carpet helped with the noise in the room.

The judge's desk at the end of the room looked monolithic and old, a dark-stained wood with the US department of Justice seal on it. There were no lower seats for witness or recorders at the front, but either side of the court's front had seating areas that were empty. Most of the floor was taken up by bailiffs, Correctional officers or PRT agents.

Taylor looked at the public gallery, but the church-style pews were all empty.

The doors closed behind her. They must have had some type of soundproofing because the roar of the crowd outside simply disappeared.

Jansen led her to the table on the left. Across from her stood three people in suits—prosecutors, she supposed. Any conversation stopped when the Bailiff's voice boomed out over the room. "ALL RISE! The Honorable Susan Fouster is presiding!"

Taylor was still on her feet, but the others in the court rose as a tiny, spare woman with short gray hair with a huge pair of rose-framed glasses stepped out of the side door. To Taylor, Fouster looked like she should be presiding over a television court during weekday afternoons.

The judge looked dwarfed as she wove her way deftly between bailiffs, until she ascended the desk at the front of the room clutching a huge volume of notes and pads. She sat down, slapped a gavel on the desk, and said, "Be seated."

The sound of moving chairs filled the room. She looked about the desk before finding a microphone and moved it closer to speak. She craned her neck, staring over the rim of her impressive glasses at the room.

"As you might have heard, I'm Judge Susan Fouster. We're here regarding case 217-2011-CR-617 the US versus Taylor Hebert. Who is here for the prosecutor?"

One of the heavy-set men stood. "Charles Sternbridge, your honor. I'm accompanied by Douglas Hatcher and LaDonna Franklin."

"I see. Mrs. Franklin, how is your daughter doing? I heard she got accepted into Yale, if I remember correctly."

If the attorney was surprised at the Judge's knowledge, she didn't show it. "She's nervous and excited, thank you for asking."

"Well, when she's ready to do her internship, let me know." Fouster looked toward Taylor's table. Her glasses utterly covered her face from the front. "For the defense?"

Ronald stood. "Ronald Jansen, Advocate General for the Youth Guard, your honor."

"Hmm, the honor's mine," the judge said. "Don't think I'm going to give you special treatment because you're so handsome."

"I'll try to curb my expectations, your honor."

The exchange elicited a few chuckles.

"And Miss Hebert is present, I see."

Taylor, still standing, nodded. "Yes, your honor." She was proud of how even her voice sounded.

The judge nodded and then took a moment to look through her notes. "So, this is arraignment. However, I understand that the parties have reached a tentative plea agreement?"

Sternbridge stood. "That's correct, your honor."

Jansen stood as well. "Agreed."

"Okay, gentlemen, lay it out for me," the judge said.

Sternbridge cleared his throat.

"At six o'clock last night, the Chief Director of the PRT declared Taylor Hebert a parahuman of interest under Title 34 as Amended. It is the belief of the Protectorate and the PRT that Miss Hebert could be of national interest in combatting Endbringers, as well as providing healing services. The US Attorney General approved the declaration. Accordingly, in return for a guilty plea to the lesser charge of Second Degree Assault with a Parahuman power in the death of Miss Militia, all other charges will be dropped. The prosecution is seeking a six-month sentence, after which the defendant will be remanded to the Wards Program in a probationary status until her majority."

Fouster pursed her old lips, as if she were smoking a cigarette.

"And the Winslow incident, or the incidents in Seattle?"

Jansen motioned toward the non-descript cape in the Noir detective costume, complete with Fedora. Nutcracker. "Your honor, Alexandria commissioned an internal investigation into the events of my client's trigger by Nutcracker, a post-cognitive parahuman with Watchdog. The investigation determined that the events of Winslow were the result of a hard trigger, followed by a second trigger event. My client was not even cognizant of what was happening to her in Winslow. And when she roused in PRT custody, she did so still deeply under the emotional influence of that double trigger event. As most case law finds, she was not culpable for Winslow due to reduced capacity.

"The investigation further found a series of bad decisions on the part of the PRT and Protectorate ENE that helped lead to the environment that both created the trigger event, and in fact led to Miss Militia's death. If the PRT ENE Director had chosen differently, both Daniel Hebert and Miss Militia would be alive today. In fact, the Protectorate Thinktank believes with a high level of assurance that if Daniel Hebert had been taken into protective custody instead of being left alone in an emotionally distraught and intoxicated condition, my client would already be a highly successful Ward. There were failings, your honor, on everybody's part. We're here today to do what we can to address those failings."

Taylor found her mind drifting as the lawyers and the judge wrangled for what she thought was a done deal. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached out for Yuki, desperate for some sense of comfort or familiarity.

Her girlfriend felt very far away.

"…not guilty."

Taylor blinked and looked up to find the judge studying her.

The old woman continued speaking. "The court finds sufficient compelling evidence to show that the events of January 3rd, 2011, were beyond the control of Taylor Hebert, and that she suffered significantly reduced capacity. Regarding the lesser charge of Second Degree Assault with a Parahuman Power?"

"Your honor, my client pleads guilty."

When Fouster didn't immediately say anything, Taylor forced her eyes up to meet those of the judge.

"Young lady," the woman said. "Teenagers have tantrums, but when a cape has such a tantrum, it endangers the lives of everyone around them. That's why the Protectorate is held to such a high standard. Capes have to be better than everyone else, because the consequences if they're not are so much worse than for anyone else.

"Your trigger event resulted in eight children dead, over 1,300 others traumatized, and a school burned down. That this all has happened without any type of prison time for you should speak very clearly to you of just how merciful the law can be. But make no mistake, Miss Hebert, regardless of your justification, you used your power to kill a human being. You might have been mad with grief, but you made a conscious decision and then acted on that decision to end another life."

Taylor felt her stomach clench tightly. Jansen quietly placed a hand on hers, while behind them many of the heroes prepared for another outburst.

The judge removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "The only reason I am accepting the recommended sentence is because instead of doing what so many other teenaged capes do and go on a crime spree after you escaped, you instead opened a clinic and healed people. You voluntarily returned to a city you hated to defend its people against an Endbringer. You have demonstrated a genuine desire to do good. And just like the dangers of a parahuman throwing a temper tantrum, this court cannot ignore the potential good your power could do.

"Taylor Hebert, the prosecution and the PRT have both recommended a very light sentence. This sentence is based on what all parties hope and pray is your potential to heal, rather than destroy. To protect, rather than kill. Against that promise, and the hopes that you will be an actor for good rather than despair, the court accepts your plea and sentences you to time served, plus six months in a PRT-appointed facility. Afterward, you will be remanded to the PRT Wards program under probation until your 18th birthday, after which a hearing shall be made to determine if probation will continue beyond that date. Dismissed."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The next morning, the convicted felon Taylor Hebert was escorted through the Brockton General Hospital. She watched as repair crews worked diligently to pump out any remaining water from the flooding and strip out ruined drywall before mold set in. The hospital had top priority and already had power restored by the city, even if the surrounding buildings did not.

She had her bracelets and anklets on, and the orange jumpsuit made her stand out like a radioactive popsicle in the middle of the floor even without the four PRT agents and both Battery and Assault of the local Protectorate Escorting her (you were not supposed to call them Assault and Battery. Battery did not like that at all.)

The elevators were all out, of course, but Lady Photon met them at the stairs. She was out of costume, wearing baggy cargo pants and an old New Wave blouse from their public unmasking years ago.

The woman did not look like a superhero. She looked like a tired mom of two teenagers who hadn't slept in days. Dark rings pulled at her eyes and her dark blonde hair hang limply against her back.

Despite all that, she smiled broadly when she saw Taylor's bright orange costume. She walked right toward her, and Taylor remembered from their brief conversation before the fight against Leviathan that she was actually an inch taller than Sarah Pelham.

"Hello, Taylor," she said. Her emotion almost poured off her. "Thank you so much for coming."

"I'm just glad Director Rennick let me come," Taylor said. In truth, even if she didn't genuinely want to help, just getting out of her cell before the transport took her to the West Coast made it worthwhile. "How are they?"

"The same. Panacea made sure their bodies were healthy."

She led the way up the stairs. Taylor and her escorts followed behind.

"I heard that Crystal finally woke up." That was Battery, a woman in her early twenties who had more curves under her skin-tight, battery-themed costume that Taylor ever would. "How's she doing?"

"She's well, thank you," Mrs. Pelham said, thrilled that her daughter was awake and well.

Despite having to climb five flights of stairs, no one was winded. They entered a quiet hall filled with nursing staff. The boarded-up windows on the east side of the building were the only sign of Leviathan's rampage.

The two male members of New Wave lay in matching beds, each hooked up to IV drips and a series of monitoring equipment. Lady Photon led Taylor into the room. Both Battery and Assault followed, as well as a single PRT agent due to the available space.

Carol Dallon, Brandish while in costume, stood beside her husband's bed holding the man's hand. In a plush chair near the foot of the bed, Victoria Dallon curled up, sleeping deeply. She wore her Glory Girl costume, a white leotard with a short skirt and biker shorts, though her tiara appeared to be missing.

Sarah walked to the center space between the beds.

Looking at the two women in their civilian clothes, Taylor thought they could easily have been twins for their striking similarities. Despite their similar faces, though, where Sarah wore her hair long, Carol Dallon wore her blonde hair shorter and feathered.

She turned and watched Taylor enter with a hopeful expression.

"Hello, Taylor," she said softly. "It's a pleasure to meet the real hero behind the mask."

Taylor felt her cheeks burn. "Hard to feel like a hero in an orange jumpsuit."

"Heroes are judged by their actions, not their clothing," Carol said firmly. "The fact that you're here, now, after everything that's happened to you? That makes you a hero, Taylor. Please don't ever forget it. Now, what can we do to help?"

"I'll need a chair. A rolling one, if possible."

It took hours. Taylor didn't care. She only took breaks for the bathroom, and for another meal of emergency FEMA rations since the hospital's basement cafeteria was still under water. Otherwise, she continued pouring Force energy into the two men.

Six hours after her arrival, Eric Pelham coughed himself awake.

He didn't look at his mother or aunt. He turned his head to stare intently at Taylor with a tired smile. "Will you marry me?" he asked, before slipping into a gentle, peaceful sleep.

Sarah had her face in her hands, her eyes red with tears of happiness.

"Don't take him seriously, Taylor. He says that to every pretty girl he meets."

Taylor's cheeks blushed not because of the handsome young man's declaration, but because his mother referred to her as "pretty".

Moments later, Mark Dallon opened his eyes. "Carol?" he asked. "Carol? Vicki, is she?"

"I'm fine, dad," Glory Girl said, now awake and weeping herself. "Everyone is fine. Amy's downstairs healing, and mom's right here."

Carol proved it by leaning over and kissing her husband. Taylor felt her cheeks flare before she slumped tiredly in her chair.

"Ya' done good, kid," Assault said. His armored body-suit was a much calmer shade of red than her bright orange jumpsuit. "Let's head on back."

Her stomach dropped at the thought of going back to that cube with the hard, concrete shelf, but instead of fighting it she merely nodded and stood up. However, before she could turn to go she found herself enveloped in a tight hug by a weeping mother.

"Thank you, for my son," Sarah Pelham gushed.

She was replaced a moment later by Carol Dallon. "And for my husband," the younger sister said. "If you ever need legal assistance, let me know."

"I…thanks. Good luck. With everything."

The three other PRT agents apparently hadn't gone anywhere through the six hours it took to heal Mark Dallon and Eric Pelham. They fell in with the other one, framing her in a square of armor, while Battery and Assault walked behind them, chattering lightly.

The PRT transport truck looked like a square tank. It even had rotating turret on top, one that sprayed out massive amounts of containment foam. However, for all it's size, it was still a very tight fit as they climbed in.

"So, puppy," Assault said to Battery as the truck started moving. "Wouldn't you say our little jailbird here deserves one last hurrah before being shipped off to that cruel and soulless hell known as California?"

When Battery looked at Assault, Taylor could feel exasperation, but also fondness and a deep, abiding love.

"Holy shit, the forums were right," she blurted. "You two really are married."

"What makes you say that?" Battery said archly.

Taylor felt her cheeks grow hot and looked down at her manacled bracelets. "I can control the telepathy. The empathy's always on."

"Just what's your power again?" Battery asked

Taylor shrugged. She had no idea how she could explain how her powers were different than the others. Assault, though, started chuckling, then laughing. It was a joyous sound, and the utter joy that shone from him seemed to fill the room.

"What now, you idiot?" Battery said.

"You can't deny it any more, Puppy! Even the bloody telepathic says you love me! Just for that, we owe this girl pizza!"

So, it was that the PRT transport drove to the far edge of south downtown to the Pizza Palace Buffet. Taylor felt utterly floored to be paraded into one of the most popular eateries in Brockton Bay in her prisoner orange.

Despite everything the city was going through, the restaurant itself was full to capacity. Abruptly all conversation stopped as the two heroes led her in. Worse yet, Assault seemed to eat the attention up.

"Ladies and gentleman!" he shouted. "For any of you who have been following New Wave's hardship since Leviathan, I'm pleased to announce this young lady here has successfully healed both Flashbang and Shielder! So, in thanks for saving those two, not to mention the three thousand folks in the hospital Leviathan almost flattened, we're going to give her a final farewell before she serves her time."

"I don't want to be here," Taylor hissed desperately. "Please…"

Someone stood up and started clapping.

Taylor stared, mouth gaping, to see a grown man she didn't even know clapping for her. Someone else stood to do the same, then a third and fourth. She also saw some people leaving the restaurant, expressions of disgust darkening their way. But for every one who left, three stood to applaud.

"That's why we're here, Puppy," Assault said. He wasn't laughing or joking any more. If anything, he looked sad beneath the visor that protected his identity. "You needed to see for yourself. There are people who aren't fans. There are people who were hurt. But there are a lot of people who you saved. Don't forget that, and you'll get through your six months without a problem. Now, let's go eat. I estimate we have an hour before Rennick calls and chews my ass out for this stunt."


	33. Livermore or Let Die

A/N: Chap 32 review responses are in my forums as normal. Now, a note on this chapter. I've mentioned that I overwrote this story by a lot. I ended up cutting or abandoning almost 100,000 words to get this into shape. As a result of such heavy editing, this chapter feels a bit clunky to me. I had prolonged sequences of her trip from Brockton Bay, and her negative, angsty interactions with some of the heroes. It added nothing to the story and just slowed things down. So I cut it. But the transition is a bit rocky. Not an excuse for that rocky transition, just a reason why.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Livermore or Let Die**

Taylor had no control over the alarm. The lights came on and a speaker grill in the wall announced, "Seven a.m. wake up call. You have thirty minutes."

She sat up groggily before giving herself a brief meditation to clear out the cobwebs. The previous day passed by in a blur of transport vans and airplanes. Her escorts had been firm, unfriendly, but meticulously professional.

Her trip ended in this room, in Livermore, California, for power testing. As Mr. Jansen said, "Time served in power testing is surely more comfortable than time served in a detention facility, wouldn't you think?"

Thirty minutes after the alarm went off, dressed and clean in the private little show that came with the room, the food arrived on a tray through a slot at the bottom of the door. More runny eggs, two slices of limp bacon, lukewarm bread and a carton of 2% milk. A small packet of salt and pepper was all she had to season the otherwise bland, tasteless food.

She ate every bite.

Speaking through a grill in the door, the agents ordered her to sit on the bed; she did so and watched as they unlocked the door and six men and women in heavy black PRT armor stepped into the room. At their direction, she stood and let them lock her wrist cuffs together before they led her down the long, featureless hall of the detention sublevel and into the elevator.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Taylor got her first real look not just at the building, but of sunlight that day.

The first floor of the building was wide open, allowing a view to the windowed walls on the far side of a sunken atrium dominated by a large indoor fountain framed by thick support columns. Two wide, curving desks, one to the right of the door they entered on, and one to the left of the far opposite door, provided room for secretaries to greet visitors, though only one of the desks was manned. Between the two desks were two sets of free-floating stairs flanking a bank of four elevators. Everything was painted in soothing shades of blue, cream or brown, with large planter boxes around the fountain that made the air smell fresh, clean and comfortably cool.

In the depressed area near the fountain, a large television on a rolling cart faced several padded folding chairs. Several capes in costumes stood milling around the chairs, obviously waiting for a presentation to begin.

She saw the familiar face of Dan Seneca from Seattle's PRT office among them, along with a mildly attractive woman who appeared to favor the same type of suits as Seneca himself, sans tie. She wore slacks and pumps, but otherwise had a similarly dark jack and slacks over an off-white blouse. Her hair was thickly styled and as dark as his, but glossy with hair product. She stood straight-backed, though, and moved with the measured grace of someone who had some type of physical training.

Everyone was talking quietly, their words drowned by the fountain, until one particularly high-pitched voice shouted, "Taylor!"

The six agents escorting Taylor did not appear to appreciate Ashwinder's determined breech of their perimeter. Taylor, however, appreciated the hug.

"Hey, Winder. What are you doing here?"

"Power testing, of course," Ashwinder said. "Romulus back in Seattle said all Wards have to come here for their power testing. When did you get in?"

"Last night."

"Do you think…"

"Ashwinder, it's time to come sit down." Seneca stood a few feet away, watching the exchange with a carefully schooled expression.

"But…"

"Better go," Taylor told the girl. "I'm not in a costume, Winder. I'm not here as a hero. You are. Go sit, it'll be okay."

Her exposed mouth frowned fiercely. "It's not fair! They shouldn't treat you like this!"

"It doesn't matter," Taylor said. "Go on, sit down. We'll talk again soon."

Still with her furious frown visible to all and sundry, Ashwinder made her way back to the sunken seating area, where the other young heroes pointedly stared at her.

Seneca stepped forward. "Agents, her wrists?"

One of the agents released the magnetic lock on her wrist cuffs, allowing her arms to rest at her sides.

"This way, please, Quintessence," Seneca said. He used her cape name despite the fact she wore no mask nor costume, just an orange jumpsuit with the world "Villain" across her back.

Taylor soon got a better look at the Wards in their costumes as they approached. There numbered four in total, including Ashwinder. The other three stood in a group—the leader of which appeared to be a teen around Taylor's age in light armor that gleamed silver under the skylight overhead. Blue cloth made a striking counterpoint, while the silver trident he carried made him look like an extra from a Disney movie.

The boy next to him was dressed in poorly fitted corduroy pants and a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it. He wore a black domino mask but carried…a dirty sock knotted on either end. He was twisting it compulsively.

The third Ward appeared to be a child—she barely came up past the two boys' mid-sections. She wore a fetching red body-suit and skirt with a full-head helmet contoured around her head like a teardrop, similar to Ashwinders but of a deeper crimson color, and a closed face mask.

The three Wards stared at Taylor's exposed face and orange prisoner's jumpsuit.

"She has no mask!" sock-boy shouted. He twisted his sock so hard his knuckles turned white. "Leister, she has no mask! Why doesn't she have a mask?"

His speech was perfectly enunciated, but his sense in the Force was one of confusion and worry. He was scared for her.

"That's okay, Flambé_,_" the Ward named Leister said. "She doesn't need one."

"Okay!" he shouted. He smiled at Taylor. "I'm Flambé! I can make things burn. I'm not supposed to unless Vantage says so, but he said I can burn things here!"

Taylor, aware of the two assistant directors and the PRT agents all looking at her, stepped back. "That sounds like you're going to have fun."

"They have banana pudding here too!" Flambésaid. "It's the best. Do you like banana pudding?"

She was saved from answering when an Indian man led two other people in white lab coats into the sunken area. He wore a nice three-piece suit, but the two people behind him wore business casual with lab coats.

"Welcome! Welcome!" he announced loudly in a pronounced accent. "I am Anantha Nurugesh, the Principal Associate Director of Parahuman Sciences here at Lawrence Livermore, and I'm thrilled to meet you all. Joining me are Octavio Ramirez, one of my specialist researchers, and Jeffrey Kimbrel, the test coordinator. Please, everyone, have a seat."

The Wards obediently took their seats nearest the television. A single seat sat behind the others—it was to this seat that Seneca directed her. The PRT agents assumed positions directly behind her.

Nurugesh did not even blink at the display. "So, it is my great pleasure to have you here today. Before we begin, I wish to talk to a little about who we are, and what we do here. As some of you may know, the PRT contracts with the various national laboratories to do Parahuman power testing. For the west coast, that's us here at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. In the Southwest and Texas, it would be Sandia National. For the northeast, Brookhaven National Labs."

Leister, in his armor and trident, raised his hand.

"Yes, Leister?" Of course Nurugesh knew who everyone was.

"Sir, I've always wondered why the Protectorate didn't do its own power testing. Seems like parahumans would be best and determining other parahuman powers."

"Two reasons," Nurugesh said. "First, and most important, your idea is simply not true. Being a parahuman does not make you an expert on Parahumans, just like being human does not make you an expert in human physiology. Second, is money. The PRT and Protectorate are both primarily a law enforcement agencies. Since Congress has already tasked the various national laboratories with researching parahumans, we have the equipment, the expertise and the budget."

The researcher spoke with a grin—it might have looked smug, but all Taylor felt from the man was exuberant excitement. He obviously loved his job.

What followed were a few videos, the first of the Chief Director, Rebecca Costa-Brown, thanking them for their cooperation in the testing process, followed by a history of parahumans, from the first sighting of the naked, golden Scion floating off the eastern coast of the US to the emergence of the first heroes and then Endbringers in the years that followed.

_Scion was first._ Taylor thought of her visions and felt a chill run down her spine.

When the videos were done, Nurugesh gave another speech. He was an animated speaker, waving his hands about himself in an excited fashion. He told them about how power testing had evolved from the very first Wards class. He thankfully didn't mention names, but she felt him glance at her briefly when he obviously thought of Miss Militia. He hadn't done her testing, but he obviously knew about her and Taylor.

"Over the next two days, we will test you under every classification the PRT uses," he told them. "Failure is as important as success, and you will think the tests odd since you may not have the power we are going to test for at all. But occasionally we have also discovered powers that even young capes may not be aware of. Most of all, we wish for you to have fun, and to relax. You can opt out of any test at any time. Now, let's get started!"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Though Taylor briefly toyed with not cooperating, the idea of being alone in the room with nothing to do did not appeal at all. At least by cooperating, she was out of her cell and around people.

Even if the people feared or hated her.

So, she went through her tests, with the PRT agents there the whole time.

The morning started with a thorough, embarrassing physical conducted by a female doctor and two nurses behind pulled curtains. Her PRT escort stood right outside as Taylor was instructed to disrobe.

After came physical tests—treadmills, pullups. They fortunately didn't cut her to test her self-healing abilities, but then again they didn't need to. The physician overseeing her exam spotted the thin, barely visible scar on her thigh, confirmed it came from Narwhal, and asked how long it took to heal.

"A day or two."

Taylor tried to cooperate, until her agents led her into a room with what looked like a massive coffin. "What…is that an MRI machine?"

The physician nodded. "Yes, we…"

_Closed space. Screaming. The smell of rot and death. "Let me out!"_ She blurted the word "No!"

The agents behind her tensed. The physician raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I…I am not going into that thing. Sorry. I just can't."

"The MRI is an important part of the testing process, young lady," the physician said. "It allows us to…"

"No. Lock me back up, take away my toys. Fucking starve me if you want. No."

"I see." The physician made a note. "Very well. This way, please. We'll skip this part and you can go ahead and meet with Doctor Malory."

Taylor bit back a sarcastic reply.

The agents led her out of the medical wing of the building, which Taylor had come to realize was a giant glass cylinder, up a flight of stairs to the third level. Through one of four separate doors she found herself in a spacious, frankly beautiful room with a lush sitting area with plush leather couches, pastel-painted walls and lots of ferns in pots. A glass wall separated the sitting area from a series of opaque glass walls that permitted light, but no detail.

A tall man with balding hair and thick glasses hanging off the tip of a very long nose stepped through the glass. "Miss Hebert, this way, please."

Taylor stood, expecting the agents to follow her. They did not. Instead, the man who she knew from a casual glance at his mind was Dr. Malory, led her to a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across slightly arid hills that seemed to stretch forever under a beautiful, cloudless sky.

"Please have a seat at the table," Malory said.

He motioned to a large wooden table set near the outer windows. Two pencils were placed beside a stack of scantron tests.

"What, SATs?" she asked dryly.

"Oh, much worse than that. The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory," Malory said. "My specialty is psychology. I'm here to do your psychological assessment."

She couldn't help but stare. "Really? On a villain?"

"In this room, Taylor, there are no heroes or villains. I'm not interested in your power except how it might affect your thoughts. I'm not interested in your past except for how it affects your present and future. I'm not here to hurt you, or bring up painful memories. I'm here to get to know you as much as I can in a day, and maybe in the process help you know yourself a little better. But the Bureaucratic gods need their sacrifice, so let's get started on the tests, shall we?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The psychological tests went well past lunch and into early evening. She felt emotionally drained by the time Dr. Malory signaled her escorts. "I think you have one more battery of tests today, Taylor," he said. "Just remember, refusing to do a test, in and of itself, is not a lack of cooperation."

After a dinner of meatloaf, boiled peas and reconstituted mashed potatoes in an otherwise empty cafeteria, flanked by her escorts (all of whom were different from this morning), she went to her next round of tests.

She spent the next hour plucking random images and words out of the minds of three masked people reading from hidden teleprompters. She found herself fighting a yawn as she kept hitting the various symbols the researchers were using for control purposes.

Then came the last test for the day. Malory had returned to escort her to this one. They stopped in front of a glass door. Within sat a handsome young man drumming his fingers on the table.

"Given your observed usage, we have to test for Master powers," Malory said. "It's actually a federal mandate where the possibility exists. We have a set of tasks we would like that young man to perform. Know that he is a paid volunteer, and no task will harm him." _Any attempt to harm him will get you shot._

He didn't speak the last thought, but he was looking her in the face and saw how she paled.

"I think you understand," he said with a wry smile. "Part of the federal mandate I'm required to say for a test of this nature. I don't believe for a moment there is any risk of you harming him, but I am legally required to make sure you understand."

"I understand," Taylor said.

"Then please go in and begin."

She stepped in without another word and sat down opposite the young man.

The first thing she noticed was that he worked out. She could see well-defined muscles under the polo he wore. He had a defined chin and a wide nose, but the type of dark eyes a girl could melt into. He also projected nervousness bordering on abject terror behind his handsome smile. His name was Jaquan, and he was the subject for her Master test.

The lab was paying him $100 per hour from what she gathered from his plans to buy new rims for his '09 _Avanti_ convertible. Dark purple, 6-cylinder two door automatic, with the spinners he wanted it would be sick. Couldn't drive it much with gas so expensive, but he just knew Sha'ree with go out with him if he had that ride.

"You don't have to be nervous," she said softly, her stomach roiling nervously. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"Oh, I'm not nervous," he assured her. She could feel a spark of his pride briefly overcome the nervous fear. Very briefly. "Not at all."

It was so easy to reach out with the force to feel his thoughts. "Well, okay. You feel a little nervous to me, but if you stand up on the table and touch your nose, I'll know you aren't."

"I can do that!" He didn't just stand, he pushed back his chair and did a standing jump onto the table in a very impressive display of agility that didn't end in disaster only because the table was bolted to the floor. He then very proudly touched his nose, until Taylor's suggestion wore off.

"Why am I doing this?"

He just sounded so…cute. Taylor grinned. "To prove you weren't nervous."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know."

Frowning in confusion, he sat back down. "So, what's it like being a cape?"

"I can tell you, but only if you do a handstand against the wall there, and do three inverted push-ups."

"Hah, that's nothing!" He then proved that his arms were as strong as his legs. His polo rode up his chest, revealing a finely sculpted set of abs.

Taylor's grin faded, though, when she realized that she was literally playing with this handsome young man. He gracefully came back to his feet, frowning again in confusion.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she said. She turned to the featureless wall behind which she could feel her observers. "Dr. Malory, I'm sorry, but I don't feel comfortable with this test."

"Whoa, whoa," Jaquan said. "We don't have to stop, I'm fine." He was now thinking of the money.

Taylor tried to force her smile. "I know. You really do seem nice. I just…I was making you do silly things, and that's…that's not right. It's not right and I don't want to do it anymore."

The door opened and Dr. Malory stepped in. Her escort stood in the hallway outside.

"That's fine, Taylor," he said gently. "Jaquan, don't worry. You'll be paid for your agreed hours. We appreciate you coming in."

Instantly he relaxed, relieved both for the fact his ordeal was over, and that he was still going to get paid.

"Cool. Well, nice to meet you," he said with a wave to Taylor before he stepped out of the room.

"So, $100 an hour?" she asked.

"It should come as no shock that we have a hard time recruiting people to volunteer for parahuman power testing," Malory said with a wry smile. "Still, I think we're done for the day. Go back to your room and relax."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

She came back to her room to discover a half-quart carton of Dutch chocolate ice cream softening on her desk, and the television and movie streaming service connected. A post-it note by the ice cream told her why. _Thank you for your cooperation._

She snuggled up on her bed with the ice cream, a cheap plastic spoon, and the '84 version of _Henry V_.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The Testing Control Center for the Lawrence Livermore Parahuman Research Initiative was nestled in the center of the cylindrical glass building that housed the PHRI. Each test had its own command 'pit', a segregated area lined with wall-mounted large-screen monitors and smaller monitors for the five-staff members necessary to run each test.

For controlled environments, they used imbedded tinkertech scanners to record every aspect of a parahuman's physiology while they exercised their various powers. For outdoor tests, they used contact sensors.

There were twelve such 'pits' built around the open center observation room, where Nurugesh and assorted guests could watch any particular test in comfort, taking notes. Nutcracker, having flowing in on the same flight as Taylor herself from Brockton Bay, leaned back in a comfortable leather recliner, a glass of tea in hand, while Assistant Directors Seneca and Robin Barlow, from the South LA PRT Office, spoke quietly about the interior combat test results for their mutual firebrands, Flambé and Ashwinder.

Nutcracker forced himself to focus on the conversation.

"…Flambé do in the field?" Seneca was asking.

"Once he has fire in his hands, he's completely different. When he activates his power, it calms him down far better than risperidone or any of the antipsychotics we've tried," Barlow answered. "He's not as high on the spectrum as some, but his medical records indicate he did suffer brain damage at birth."

"Yes, the use of power can have a powerful physiological and psychological impact on a parahuman," Surugesh said from where he stood, arms crossed and one hand rubbing his close-shaven chin. "A good example is Burnscar, from the Slaughter House Nine. She was the subject of a study on just that aspect of power at the Asylum ENE. A relatively moral young woman driven to unspeakable acts by the relief she gained from using her power, until the morality itself was simply lost by the need to survive."

"Is that true for all parahumans?" Barlow asked.

"Apparently not," Surugesh said. "Observe one the exceptions we've found so far."

Nutcracker looked back to the main monitor that hung from the ceiling in front of them. The sixth-floor interior obstacle course was designed by the PRT for close combat simulations. This environment tended to favor strikers and brutes, whereas the open course favored blasters and movers. The young figure in the orange jumpsuit looked nervous as she rubbed at her wrists.

"I don't envy you that one," Barlow said to Seneca with a divisive snort.

"Yes, it is a shame that the girl who risked her freedom to save my daughter is back in Seattle," Seneca said.

Barlow started. "What?"

"I'm not sure we widely released that information, Dan," Nutcracker said.

"Neither is it classified." Dan gave Barlow a kindly smile, the kind that tended to make people nervous. "My wife and I started the procedures to adopt Ashwinder while she was in the burn ward at Bayview West. Third degree burns over 90% of her body with permanent damage to her kidneys, lungs, heart and eyes. You wondered why she hugged Quintessence when she saw her? It's because, despite the fact she was an escaped fugitive, Quintessence agreed heal Ashwinder. She saved that girl's life."

"Which is in part what makes her so fascinating," Surugesh suddenly interrupted. "Have none of you ever wondered why there are so few parahumans taking advantage of the Stansfield Act? It is because their powers urge them to conflict. This we know for a fact—parahumans who do not use their powers at all risk psychotic breaks after a few years. We have here a Trump—a brute, master, blaster, thinker and striker capable of taking on entire armies. And she uses her power to heal for a living. She is a singularly…ah. The test starts."

They couldn't hear the beep that signaled the start of the course, but Quintessence obviously did. She burst forward, moving so fast she was almost horizontal on the walls for tight turns. Then the drones began popping out of the various walls, floors and ceilings. Some were red for villains, some blue for heroes, some white for civilians.

Quintessence didn't dazzle them with any flashy shows of power. Brief, controlled bursts of telekinesis blasted the villains without touching any of the heroes or civilians. She dove, jumped, spun and bent around the obstacles faster than they'd seen so far, with perfect accuracy.

"Ah, there, did you see! And again! Precognition, without a doubt," Surugesh said, pointing.

Indeed, Nutcracker saw on the two occasions where Quintessence had telekinetic blasts in the air split seconds before villain drones even appeared, while continuing to spare heroes and civilians. She somersaulted easily over a barrier that popped up out of the floor, somehow timing her roll to avoid the one that dropped from the ceiling.

"Time?" Surugesh called.

"Twenty seconds," one of the researchers in the pit for this particular test called out.

"Now comes the interesting part," Surugesh said. The man began rocking excitedly on the balls of his feet.

A fully armored PRT agent jumped out with a gun ready, only to cry out in surprise as Quintessence telekinetically yanked her into the wall behind the girl. More agents appeared, only to be easily tossed about. One attacked with a pair of escrima sticks, only to have them yanked from his hands before Quintessence flipped him over her head.

"Interesting," Surugesh said. "Nutcracker, you've had more contact with her. Has she shown a predilection for fighting sticks?"

"You mean like her tinker-tech melee weapons?"

Surugesh laughed. "Ahh, yes. I forget. On top of everything else, she's a tinker!"

Seconds later, the test ended. Twenty PRT agents littered the floor of the course. Those of them in the control center watched, bemused, as their villain wandered back into view of the main camera and knelt down beside one of the fallen agents, who was clutching a broken knee. Quintessence spoke to her briefly.

"Sound, please," Surugesh said.

"…_pretty easily_."

"_It's against protocol_," the agent said through obviously gritted teeth.

"She's offering to heal him," Nutcracker surmised.

Surugesh clapped his hand. "Kimbrel, give me speakers."

At the other man's signal, Surugesh spoke. "Quintessence, we would be very happy for you to demonstrate your healing capabilities under controlled circumstances if you are willing. Perhaps you can join the other Wards for lunch afterward."

Seneca and Barlow both sat up in alarm, but Surugesh didn't seem to care.

"_Yeah, okay_," came the taciturn response.

"Excellent."

The speakers muted. Barlow cleared her throat. "Director, she's…"

"A subject of power testing," Surugesh said, cutting Barlow off. "That includes interacting with her peers. More importantly, we reward cooperation, do we not? She was under no obligation to offer healing to any of those agents."

Seneca stood from his chair. "You're right. Cooperation should be rewarded. The whole point of this is hopefully to make her a hero one day."

"And it will be an excellent opportunity for Dr. Malory to study her reactions to a peer group," Surugesh said with a happy wave of his hands.


	34. Tantrums

A/N: Reviews in my forums as normal. Among them, a guest reviewer asked, "She doesn't know Shadow Stalker was a Ward, did she?"

No. No she didn't.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Tantrums**

Quintessence, supervised by the building's medical researchers, healed five of the PRT agents who suffered damage during her close-quarters test. Mostly joints. They took their injuries stoically, and the healing even more so.

After, more agents escorted her to the cafeteria where the Wards were currently eating.

Dr. Fred Malory had joined the observation team in the control center, sitting beside Nutcracker and Dan with a simple steno pad and paper. Surugesh remained standing, as excited about watching social interaction as he was watching Quintessence blow through an army of drones and PRT agents with a better time than anyone outside of Brockton Bay's Velocity or Alexandria herself, who beta tested the course several years back.

"You have counseling for Ashwinder back in Seattle?" Malory asked casually as they watched Seneca's adopted daughter jump up from where she was eating with the ward Redshift, rush across the room, and hug Taylor desperately.

"Yes, twice a week," Dan said. "She's still dealing with issues of avoidance, depression, nightmares and headaches. The emotional regression is also linked to the trauma she experienced. She's been trying very hard not to go to school, feigning illness. She's even managed to psych herself into actual symptoms."

He motioned toward how Ashwinder was leading a reluctant Taylor back toward the buffet, pointing out each food as if Quintessence could not have figured it out on her own.

"I don't know what happened between them after Quintessence healed her. I believe they communicated telepathically, because Ashwinder woke knowing her parents were gone, and seemed… Well, she acted as if she had already accepted the loss. Since then, she's formed an intense emotional bond with Quintessence."

"Of which Quintessence is aware and careful of," Malory said. "It came up in her discussion. She's aware of Ashwinder's emotional regression and is convinced she'll get over it once she starts interacting with her peers. I suspect that's why Ashwinder doesn't wish to go back to school. I…don't wish to overstep my bounds, Director Seneca, but it might be advisable not to let them attend the same schools."

"Won't happen," Dan said. "Totally aside from the age difference? Quintessence will be housed in the King County South Youth Services Center. Part of her sentence includes community service, which we'll allow by volunteering at Washington University's medical center. She won't be anywhere near Ashwinder. After that, she'll likely be in public high school in South or West Seattle."

"You're going to let her go to public school?" Barlow asked. "Doesn't the center have its own program?"

"It does. And she'll be attending for six months."

"Quintessence is showing an elevated heart rate," Malory noted calmly. "She's more nervous meeting with her peers than she was in the test course."

They all looked at the monitors, in which they saw Ashwinder leading Quintessence to the table with the Wards.

"Audio?" Malory asked.

The audio turned on instantly.

"…_ding is the best! I love banana pudding_!"

Flambé, of course.

"_It's very good_," Quintessence said. She turned to the other two Wards. "_Um…hi_." That, of course, was to Leister and Redshift.

"_You gonna fry our brains or shit_?" Redshift asked. Nutcracker knew the Redshift was currently the youngest active Ward in Los Angeles, only ten years old.

Nutcracker saw Barlow shake her head and covered her mouth with her hand in dismay.

"_Not before I get to my banana pudding, no. Flambé says it's very good, you know."_

Nutcracker couldn't help himself; he laughed aloud and sat up in his chair. Barlow was staring at the screen again, while Seneca looked cautiously optimistic. Malory made a note on his steno pad.

On the monitor, Redshift squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as Quintessence began to eat. The girl was wearing her casual domino mask, just like Leister, Flambé and Ashwinder. Leister made a point of calmly eating while ignoring his young colleague's discomfort.

"_Yeah, but…you know. You're a villain and shit."_

"_You know they're listening to us, don't you?"_

Nutcracker enjoyed Barlow's suddenly blanching.

"_Who?"_

"_Your boss, for one. Seneca. Malory. The director. Another cape I know."_

Barlow rose to her feet in alarm. "How…? What's her range?"

"At least a hundred feet, evidently," Surugesh noted, happily rolling on the balls of his feet.

"_Bullshit. Why'd they be listening to us?"_

"_Red, think about it,"_ Leister said, finally speaking for the first time. _"She's just playing with you for being rude."_

"_Is that right, villain? You just playing with our heads?"_

"We should put a stop to this," Barlow said. "That convict has no business sitting with heroes."

"And yet, Assistant Director, it is the heroes who are being rude," Nutcracker noted.

"And why wouldn't they be? They're in the company of a mass-murderer!"

On the monitor, Quintessence placed her fork and knife down.

"_What's wrong, T… Quintessence?"_ Ashwinder asked.

"_I lost my appetite."_

"_But…"_

"_It's okay, Ashwinder. It's probably better that you don't hang out too much with a mass-murderer, after all." _She stood and walked back to her PRT escorts_. "I'm ready to go to my cell."_

Barlow stood staring at the monitor, her mouth agape. Malory flipped a page in his steno note pad and made a rather long notation.

"We did establish the whole telepathy thing, right?" Nutcracker asked. He felt rather proud of the light, airy tone he struck. "Or perhaps, at the end of the day, how your mass murderer is a fifteen-year-old orphan still mourning the loss of her parents?"

Rather than retreat, Nutcracker saw from the set of her shoulders and the placing of her feet that Barlow was digging in.

"Her being an orphan doesn't help Miss Militia, or Shadow Stalker, or…"

The building shook. Nutcracker rose to his feet, blood draining from his face. "Director, where's…?"

The monitor in the control room was flipping through various spots in the building until they saw Quintessence's escorts, all six of them, unconscious in the hallway.

"Or the fact she never knew that one of the girls who tortured her into triggering was a Ward," Nutcracker said, no longer bothering to hide his anger. "Assistant Director Barlow, I'd recommend you pack your things and prepare to leave. Expect your security clearance to be revoked within the hour. Dan, please contact the San Francisco PRT and let them know Quintessence is off the reservation. Director Surugesh, I'll need a secure landline."

"Of course."

All the frenzy of activity came to a grinding halt when Malory calmly said, "She's in the obstacle field."

Nutcracker moved to stand behind the psychologist in order to gain a better view. Around them, the two other hanging monitors also switched to the exterior obstacle course with its dozen cinder block houses and even a multi-story building simulating a typical American city street. Other areas of the course simulated suburbia, and the final area was a relatively simple obstacle course. Quintessence, however, ignored these other areas.

She stood in front of one of the six-level cinder block buildings, arms splayed out to either side, her shoulders back. Cold wind from the Bay tugged at her shoulder-length hair.

Suddenly she stomped forward and screamed. The entire structure exploded. That wasn't all, though. Nutcracker knew more than a dozen capes in the Protectorate alone who could have done the same. Even Redshift could have destroyed any one of those buildings with her powerful kinetic-to-explosive energy conversion.

No, what made him pause was what happened after the building exploded. More than fifty tons of cinder blocks began spinning about in a giant vortex that pummeled all the other structures until they all began to collapse, only to join into the scouring vortex.

"My God, it's…just like the Simurgh," Barlow whispered, her hands over her mouth.

Nutcracker couldn't correct her, because that's exactly how the Simurgh fought. When the hated Endbringer descended on a city to whip the citizens into living potential suicide bombs with her telepathic scream, she defended herself from the attacking capes with a telekinetic storm cloud of material, ranging from cars to high rise apartment buildings.

Taylor spun about, like a ballerina performing a perfect pirouette, and thrust both hands out with another scream.

Everything exploded out into the next course—leaving a scoured, empty field. They watched as Quintessence took a few steps onto the scoured foundation of the first building, only to sink down cross-legged, her head bowed into her hands.

"Recommendations?" Surugesh said.

"Cancel the outdoor testing tomorrow?" Seneca hazarded with enough sarcasm to sink Eidolon.

Barlow made an odd _meep_ noise. "Are you insane? We need to contain her, now!"

Malory shook his head.

"I believe anyone you sent right now would be in danger. She blames Emma Barnes and the civilian identity of Shadow Stalker for every ill that has befallen her."

"Because they _are_ responsible for every ill that has befallen her, at least after her mother died," Nutcracker said. "The only reason we didn't release those facts was the danger to Shadow Stalker's family."

"Which means, in her mind, that the heroes once again lied and betrayed her," Malory pointed out reasonably. He flipped a few pages of his note pad. "I understand that it was Alexandria who personally convinced her to accept her plea bargain. If we make any effort to contain her before she has her temper under control, we'll have a full-fledged crisis on our hands, one that would require Alexandria or Eidolon to resolve."

"The San Francisco Protectorate could…"

"Die," Malory said, again calmly. "Nutcracker?"

"Three high level Thinkers confirmed that Quintessence could be an S-class threat if given sufficient reason. She has no Manton limit, and you've just seen what she can do with her free telekinesis," Nutcracker said. "She can physically crush your internal organs, including your brains. Frankly I'm not even sure Alexandria would be safe if they fought. I have no doubt we could kill her, but not without huge loss of life."

"A worse-case scenario, which I find unlikely," Malory said. "She is an intelligent, surprisingly stable young woman given her power and experiences. She's received a shock, and she's processing it as best she can. Leave her alone, and when she's ready, she'll return."

"If she doesn't?" Barlow demanded.

Malory shrugged. "If she's not back in the building by dark, send Ashwinder to fetch her back."

"Ashwinder?" Seneca said.

Nutcracker, though, nodded. "The only person in this entire building that she considers to be truly innocent."

"I don't think it'll be necessary, though," Malory said. "She'll walk back likely around sundown. Although, Dan, I suspect we've reached the end of her cooperation in her testing."

"This tantrum was itself revealing," Surugesh said, though without his normal enthusiasm. "I've studied telekinetics who, within their specific power, are stronger. A free telekinetic, however? She is the most powerful I've met. We'll be studying this data all night."

Nutcracker nodded, before turning to Barlow. "Madam, I strongly recommend for all our sakes that you not be in this building by the time Quintessence comes back. You can return to LA on your own prerogative, or wait for orders from the Chief Director."

"You're letting a spoiled child dictate terms to the PRT," she snarled angrily.

"I'd say we're making a necessary personnel adjustment," Nutcracker said. He smiled tightly at her. "Good night."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Ordinarily the PHRI facility locked down at seven. Sliding tinker-made titanium alloy walls dropped down over the glass on the first floor, while Tinker-made forcefields similar to those employed by Protectorate HQs activated over the upper floors of the building.

That night, as Nutcracker stood just outside the door leading to the exterior testing grounds, the building remained open but on high alert. Nearly twenty-three separate cameras, ranging from infrared to thermal remained trained on where Taylor Hebert sat cross-legged on the foundation of what was once a simulated city.

Four separate .50 caliber sniper rifles were trained upon her from the roof and the fiftieth-floor armory, as well as a Tinker-tech cannon that could only be described as a Star Trek phaser canon as imagined by Tesla. Less than five miles away, the San Francisco Protectorate and PRT had a Quick Reaction Team on standby.

Beside Nutcracker, Dan Seneca stifled a yawn. "It's dark."

Indeed, the last glow of sunlight tickled the edge of the horizon to the west, while to the east night already ruled absolute.

Nutcracker didn't bother responding, their spotters did it for him.

"_Target is moving. Repeat, target is moving. She's…looks like she's coming back to roost. Over._"

"_Take no action until directed."_

That last came not from Seneca, or Nutcracker. That was Director Surugesh himself, his distinct Indo-English accent clipped and precise.

In seconds they could see her moving into the circles of lights that shone out from the various levels of the intentionally lit-up building. The rest of the Lawrence Livermore campus was dark. By the time she reached the door, Nutcracker saw that her hair was covered in concrete dust from her display.

He also saw tracks and smears in the dust on her cheeks. Without a word, she held out her wrists to Seneca. She didn't look at or even acknowledge Nutcracker.

Seneca slowly and deliberately secured the magnetic locks on her wrists. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She didn't look at him, or respond in any fashion. With a sigh, the assistant director motioned for the PRT escort of ten men and women to step outside and form a guard perimeter. Given the fact that she put her last six escorts to sleep in less than a second, everyone there knew it was nothing more than a formality.

They returned her to her cell without further incident.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The next morning, Dr. Malory's prediction regarding her cooperation proved accurate. She remained on her cot in her cell, clean from a shower the previous night, but obviously not dressed to do any further testing. She ignored the agents who came in.

They shut off her cable access and streaming movies, and put her back on the basic nutrition program. She didn't show any response but to sit on her cot and stare at the floor.

"_I've read Doctor Malory's report, and I concur, there is no point in continuing the charade," _Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown said that evening by teleconference. _"On the other hand, it was going to slip eventually. How do you keep a secret like that from a telepath?"_

With that, the connection ended and the wall monitor went blank. Nutcracker stood, stretched his back, and left his room in the PHRI building. In the lounge, he happened to see Ashwinder sitting next to her soon-to-be father, talking animatedly.

"…a Blaster 7!" she said, grinning. "The test was awesome. I mean, it was a bit weird because we were supposed to have a city scape to test in, but something happened to it and no one would say why. But they let me go all-out and it was so cool. I can fly, a little, and…."

Nutcracker noticed that while Ashwinder sat next to the attentive, smiling Seneca, they did not touch. So far, the only person she'd shown a willingness to touch was Quintessence herself. Still, given where Ashwinder was just weeks ago, it was a thrill to see her smiling and laughing.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor's PRT escort did not joke around with her during the painfully long drive from Livermore, California, to Seattle. Her Protectorate escort was a brute from the San Francisco Protectorate, a hulking man in a Luchador mask just like _El Matador_, painfully bright red pants and a lime-green jacket over his bare, bulging pectoral muscles.

He spent most of the trip curled up into a tight ball around the _onesie_ he was carefully knitting.

They stopped every two hours on the fourteen-hour drive for bathroom breaks. They ate packaged breakfasts and lunches from a cooler kept in the cab up front, before going through another drive thru for dinner. Taylor ate; she knew that starving herself would accomplish nothing.

They left at 6 am, and it was approaching 8 pm when Taylor felt the driver relaxing as they came within sight of their destination. She'd spent the entire trip with her head bowed, letting the Force replenish aching muscles from her forced idleness.

The escort went through all the protocols, until finally they pulled her out into a cold night and walked her down a long, narrow corridor framed by ten-foot high fences lined in razor-wire. The whole team stopped at the single metal door into a generic, single-level building that seemed to stretch off into the night.

An electric hum followed the door popping open.

Taylor made no effort to fight as her escort pulled her into a large, featureless room. The door and wall to her right was cinder block, but the wall facing her was a heavy metallic grate that gave a clear view into large, open room lined with reinforced windows and monitors. Two women and a man in tan-colored button-up shirts with badges on their breasts sat at various stations, while another large man and only slightly smaller woman in identical clothing stood waiting.

"Hands against the wall," the woman said.

Taylor complied as best she could with her hands secured. The woman very casually began to pat her down before she led her into another room. One of the PRT agents accompanied them long enough to unlock Taylor's wrists.

"Disrobe to your underwear," the woman guard ordered. Behind them, the door closed to give Taylor a modicum of privacy.

Cheeks flaring, she did as ordered.

"Raise your hands over your head and turn around twice, slowly."

She complied.

"Okay, I want you to do three jumping jacks, and three squats," the woman ordered.

Taylor couldn't help but stare. "Why?"

"Because I said so," the guard challenged. "Cooperation gets rewarded, a lack of cooperation gets you in solitary."

Taylor simply stared, letting her mind drift on the Force. She had visions of sitting alone in a brick room only as wide as the concrete shelf that formed her bed. The guard managed to keep her face schooled, but Taylor could feel her increasing nervousness. They were trying to treat her like just any another prisoner, but they all knew she wasn't. They were afraid of her.

"Looking for physical infirmities," Taylor said aloud. "Fine." She did the two sets of exercise. Rather than relax the guard, she actually appeared more nervous.

"Clothing is in that basket behind you," the guard said. "There's the curtain. Shower. You have ten minutes."

The new jumpsuit was a bright red. The underclothes were…obviously not new. Clean, but not knew. Taylor dressed and followed the guard back out into the room. The PRT agents were still there, along with the hulking knitter in the Luchador mask. In their midst stood a tall, gaunt man with thick glasses and once carefully coiffed hair that had since gone too long without attention. He wore a suite and tie, though the tie was loose and off-center, and his shirt ruined with a food stain.

Mustard.

"Taylor Hebert, I'm Director Rosens. I hope you get something out of your stay with us. We do have some paperwork for you to sign, and some questionnaires, before you'll be taken to an isolation room. This room will be for tonight only. Tomorrow, you'll be processed into your long-term room. Do you have any questions at this time?"

"Will I lose the hardware?"

Rosens looked to the lead PRT agent, who shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no."

She completed the paperwork numbly. With the questionnaire, she marked N/A on every question before putting down the pencil. They led her past the control desk to another room. It was eight feet wide, but only six deep. The back half was a raised concrete ledge on which rested a thin mattress. In a corner, directly under and thus out of sight of the camera, was a steel toilet and sink combination.

_Nothing else._

The door closed with a heavy, metallic finality that made her shoulders sink and her chest feel hollow and empty. She laid down; moments later the lights in her room turned off.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Good morning," a loud, abrasive voice announced.

A heavy-set black woman with biceps as thick as Taylor's thighs opened the door, only to pause when she saw Taylor awake, sitting on her mattress, staring with her pure-black eyes.

She caught herself quickly. "Good, you're up. Day-room meals are a privilege. We give you the benefit of the doubt first day, you prove us right you get to eat in the day room again. Prove us wrong you don't. Now, put your hands in your arm pits and follow me."

Taylor gleaned the reasons for the odd request from the woman's mind, but the idea of food was sufficient that she didn't feel like being obstinate. What she felt like was doing _something._ The cell had been painfully boring, more than anything else.

She followed her guard for the day out of the cell and into a wide, open passage. The control room she passed by was behind and to her left. They continued down the wide hall until they reached another, solid concrete wall with a single door that featured a large, reinforced glass window.

The door beyond that remained locked until the one behind closed. Only then did they step into a giant, open room. Plastic and steel picnic tables and two couches occupied the center space. The walls were filled with doors, each revealing a cell similar to what she slept in the previous night.

The thirteen girls in the empty space turned as one. Twelve of them wore orange jumpsuits; one wore red like Taylor. Her guard, Delores Franklin, led her to the far end of the room, through an open door, and into a strange, three-sided kitchen facility. Two other doors on the adjoining walls gave glimpses of similar pods of cells.

She took a proffered tray without comment and followed Delores out into the common room. The other girls watched her in silence as she found the only empty seat and began to eat silently.

All that changed when one of the girls stood up and walked to her table.

"Missy, sit down," Delores demanded.

Taylor looked up from her oat meal at a lean, angry looking Latina with black hair tired in a bun at the back of her head. She was pretty in a girl-next-door way, though a little developed for her age. "You the one that killed at those Russians, right? Up in the bay? The Bratva fucks?"

"Missy, you sit down before you…."

The two girls ignored Delores. Another of their minders started walking toward them.

"Yeah," Taylor said.

"My sister was there," Missy said, her face blank and hard as rock. "You saved her life."

"Yeah."

Missy nodded, and then before any of the minders could come interrupt what looked like a fight, she returned to her seat and finished her own breakfast.

* * *

And that's it for Arc 2. I was a little premature and labelled last chapter as the beginning of the 3rd arc. i've edited it it. The third and final arc begins with the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed the prison scene, because this is it. And if you hated the prison scene, don't worry. This is it.

Time skip coming.


	35. Free Bird

A/N: What a strange and unsettling week it's been. I hope everyone is well.

Review responses are in my forums like normal. In other news, you know you've made a splash in a new fandom when other authors start taking bits of your work. Another writer "borrowed" my Nutcracker at Winslow scene as a workaround for the heroes in his story figuring out Taylor's trigger. To the author's credit, he "told" the scene from another character as a report after the fact, so it isn't a case of plagiarism or wrong-doing. He just took the concept of my "Nutcracker as a post cog", changed the cape name, and used it as a narrative tool to get his characters from point A to point G.

Guess that means he's reading my fic.

* * *

**Part Three: HERO**

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Free Bird**

"You go be a hero now, baby," Dolores Franklin said. She gave Taylor a crushingly tight hug.

Taylor had promised herself she wasn't going to cry when September 23rd rolled around, but when the counselors at the Center prepared an actual party for her, with a banner and a cake and everything, Taylor found herself teary-eyed and emotional.

"You too, Ms. D," she said when the much larger woman put her down.

She'd already said her good-byes to the girls in her unit, but most she'd only known for a few weeks. The juvenile population was pretty transient, so she couldn't say she made friends with the girls. Most were needy at best; broken at worst. All were victims in their own right, but unfortunately chose to handle it by making others victims as well.

Delores herself walked Taylor through the exiting process. She'd had her final hearings the day before

She found herself wearing the very same dress she wore to trial in Brockton Bay as she stepped through the security checkpoints to the gate. She would have loved to say the sun was shining and the birds were singing, but it was September in Settle. It was dreary and raining cats and dogs.

She didn't care.

"Now baby, you listen here, okay?" Dolores said. "You wanna write, you wanna call, you feel free. But if I ever see you come into this unit again, I'm gonna kick your ass."

And she said it as lovingly as a mother to her newborn daughter.

"Got it, Ms. D," she said, giving the woman one more hug.

"Now you get out of here and go be a hero."

Taylor stepped through the last security desk into the gated yard.

In the yard, framed by the twelve-foot high, razor-wire topped fence, stood Dan Seneca in a raincoat and a wide umbrella. Two PRT agents stood behind him.

_Freedom is relative_, Taylor supposed.

He stepped toward her and offered her a share of the umbrella.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Okay. Is Yuki here?"

"No. But we do have some time in the schedule. If you'd like, we can swing by your house before we go to the PRT building."

The offer surprised her. "Really?"

"Really." He chuckled. "Taylor, you're not in prison any more. Probation doesn't mean house arrest. Come on, let's go. Are you hungry?"

"No. They had cake, I'm good."

The vehicle they took her too wasn't the normal massive, hulking PRT transport. Rather, it looked like a black shuttle bus. A driver was already there. Taylor and Dan took the first of the five rows of seating. The two agents split up—one in the passenger side, one in the back.

"We have a hearing with Health Services to have your home inspected tomorrow," Seneca told her as the shuttle pulled away from the secure entrance of the King County Youth Detention Center. "The petition is just waiting for their sign-off and your enrollment for school."

Taylor sighed. In a completely different tone than the first time, she repeated: "Really?"

Seneca chuckled. "Look, I get it. I saw your test scores while you were in the Center. Normally you'd be able to take your GED and be done with it. But you have to admit your circumstances are unique. We have a contracted school in South Seattle that has an AP program and the PRT vocational program. You'll be registered as a junior because of your test scores. If you want to get emancipated, the court and the PRT want you in school."

It was political, of course, and Taylor didn't need telepathy to know that. If she went to school and joined the Wards, then the PRT could point to her and say, "_See, model Ward! Don't worry about her slaughtering Russians! She's under control."_

The emancipation was the carrot at the end of the stick.

Seneca kept talking about the Wards and the various programs she could enroll in despite her probationary status. She had to admit she was interested in the accelerated licensing program, since she couldn't drive either her car or motorcycle legally at the moment.

She wasn't quite sure why he spent so much time talking about the drug and rehabilitation program, though. She didn't use anything. The Force was the only high she needed.

Finally, they passed the FEMA Exclusion Zone signs. They were coming up on the back road, rather than California Way. The van pulled right up to the garage. In the pouring rain, she could barely see the light from the bedroom.

"Here," Seneca said, offering her his umbrella. "I think your housemate had a surprise planned for you. We'll wait out here."

Taylor was tempted to do a probe to find out what he was talking about, but not doing so was part of her own counseling.

"Thanks," she said.

Even with the umbrella, she got soaking wet. She didn't care as she ran toward the garage back entrance. If Yuki was planning a surprise party, Taylor didn't want to ruin it for herself either. So, she locked her Force presence up tight so Yuki wouldn't know she was almost there, and Taylor wouldn't feel anything from her girlfriend either.

The house was still mostly empty, she saw. Their sedan was in its place in the garage, near the lift to her lab underneath. The poor car had not faired well—she saw dents and broken headlights, bent bumpers and other evidence of multiple wrecks.

She winced when she saw a strip of PRT yellow warning tape by the lift controls. She couldn't help but wonder what, if anything, they left of her work.

She walked through the unlit, empty kitchen and saw a cake on the dining room table. It was a store-bought cake with the message "WELCOME HOME TAILOR". She noticed little trails of powdered sugar on the repurposed marble countertop.

_Tailor?_

"I'm going to tease the hell out of you for spelling that wrong," she promised.

She was half-way up the stairs when she heard it: grunts, groans and rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh.

_She's watching porn?_ It wasn't a surprise, really. That was one of the first things Yuki did on their computer once she got internet set up. Everything came down to sex for Yuki. Her surprise for Taylor undoubtedly involved some perverted Japanese school girl outfit, some stolen alcohol or weed, and a porn flick on their television. Yuki thought nothing of it; that was her idea of a romantic evening.

Taylor bit back a tired sigh. What she wanted more than anything at that moment was a long, hot soak in the tub. She wouldn't have minded at all having Yuki in there with her, but not for sex. She just wanted someone to hold her and be happy that she was home.

She had a lot of time to think in the detention center. A lot of counseling. About herself, and her circumstances. It made her realize that what she and Yuki shared was not very healthy. But she also knew that Yuki crossed the country to save her. That was too much for her to ignore. That loyalty was worth a little happiness, as far as Taylor was concerned. So, she plastered a happy smile on her face and walked into the bedroom.

Her first thought when she saw them wasn't anger or even shock. It was morbid curiosity at just how a man Obsidian's size could even fit _in_ Yuki like that.

_She's cheating on me. She's cheating on me with Obsidian in my house. In my bed._

Taylor had no idea how to feel. She didn't know what to say or even think. She stood there watching the display with an empty heart and a blanked-out mind.

Abruptly the couple realized she was there. Yuki screamed—not her startled little _eep_, but a full-throated scream of horror. She jumped off her lover, leaving the huge man to roll off the bed in an alarmed and clumsy attempt to cover himself, while Yuki herself rushed toward Taylor. She kicked trash and bottles away from her path, making Taylor realize just how filthy the room was.

"Taylor! It's not what it looks like! They were supposed to call when you were coming home!"

_Of course, that makes perfect sense_, Taylor thought with a kernel of irritation. Because that was the way Yuki thought. It wasn't Yuki's fault for cheating on her, it was the PRT's fault for not giving her time to hide the evidence.

Evidence. Taylor closed her eyes as she realized that Dan Seneca knew _exactly_ what was happening in her house that morning. Of course, the PRT would have surveillance on the home of a soon-to-be released probationary Ward. Which meant it wasn't the first time.

Dan wanted her to see this.

"Taylor!" Yuki screamed again, horrified by Taylor's lack of response. She started to surge toward Taylor, dripping with sweat from her tryst, but Taylor stopped her with a raised hand.

In the corner, Obsidian had managed to pull on a pair of slacks. She had to admit, he looked like he was carved from the rock he took his cape name from. Each muscle was perfectly defined, and he had a lot of them. He was a handsome man—beautiful, even. He slowed in his efforts to pull on his shirt when he saw her staring at him.

"How long?" Taylor asked. She barely recognized her own voice. "How long did she last without someone to fuck?"

"Taylor, baby, please!" Yuki dipped her knees and clasped her hands to her chin.

Obsidian didn't seem phased by her behavior. He reacted with long familiarity to the display.

"Two weeks," he said, not even trying to deny it. "Right after she got busted first time for drunk driving. She drinks or uses whenever I'm not around. She needs someone to look out for her."

"And I wasn't there."

"Taylor, I love you!" Yuki howled. She collapsed to her knees on the floor. Her anguish radiated like heat into the Force. "I can't live without you! I won't!"

Obsidian walked around the bed, barefoot, bare chested and looking like he just walked off the cover of a magazine. He knelt down beside the howling, almost insensate girl, picked her up like a toy, and carried her into their bathroom. Taylor saw him bend over and turn on the water, and then very gently caress Yuki's hair and kiss her forehead.

Her yowls turned into deep, disconsolate sobs. Taylor found her own eyes watering.

A moment later he walked back out until he stood looking down at Taylor.

"She's fucked in the head," Obsidian explained. "Borderline Personality Disorder, that's what the Youth Guard doc called it. She can't help it. I've tried dragging her to counseling a couple of times. Youth Guard offers it for free. She just can't handle it. I think she loves you. She talks about you all the time. But you were gone longer'n she could handle and I just couldn't stand there and watch her crash and burn."

Taylor quietly wiped her eyes. As much as she wanted to rage at the man, all she felt from him was sorrow, regret, and a genuine affection.

"You love her, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Would you believe she started all this shit by talking about a threesome?"

"Yeah, actually." It was absolutely Yuki. Taylor wiped her eyes. "You took a risk for us, Obsidian."

"Todd. You saw my dick. Cape name's stupid at this point."

Taylor's laugh felt free, yet horribly bitter. "Yeah, guess so. Todd. You took a risk. I owe you. I owe her. But I can't…. I can't. I can't do this with her. Not now. I can't be what she needs. So go ahead and take her. Get her stuff, and take her home with you. Love her. Give her what she needs. I'm probably going to close the clinic—it'll be hard to claim neutrality when I'm a Ward."

"You're not mad?"

Rather than shout or scream, Taylor took a deep, shaky breath. She closed her eyes and reached for her center just like the counselors suggested in lock-up, examining her emotions as Bendu master might, and what she found inside her left her calm. She was hurt. Disappointed. But what she felt most, to her own shock, was _free_.

"I'm happy she has you," she admitted. "I was never what she needed; I was just what she had."

He had very warm eyes, she noticed. "And what about you? What do you need?"

"I'm figuring that part out. Take care of her, Todd."

"I will. I'll have her out before you get back. It was supposed to be 5pm, right?"

"Yeah."

He looked back over his shoulder. Yuki had curled into a ball in the oversized tub she'd insisted on. It came from the city salvage but was in immaculate condition, in stark contrast to the ball of misery within it.

"Thanks," he said simply.

There wasn't much else to say. Taylor turned and left them, walking slowly through the otherwise empty house. The only furniture was what they had delivered that first, wonderful day when Maria's family came over and helped install anything. The training room was still empty, as were the guest bedrooms. The place looked and felt foreign to her, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

Dan said nothing when she climbed back into the shuttle and handed him back his umbrella.

"I'm ready to go," she said simply.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

No one mentioned Yuki. When Dan walked her through the back-security entrance of the PRT building, no one really looked at her. She'd grown her hair out, but had it tied in a braid against the back of her head. She wore the same dress she wore during her trial; she didn't have any other clothes other than what was at her house.

Seneca led her to a larger security room just inside the back entrance. A front desk separated a few cubicles from the waiting area. Dan ignored the desk and used his own security access to lead her into a small conference room.

It was not empty. Taylor stumbled a moment when she saw Lisa Wilbourn stand up inside, a nervous smile on her intact, unburned face. She had short, dark green hair spiked up in the middle, with a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Two whole, worried green eyes regarded Taylor intently as she stepped in after Seneca.

"Hey, there. You're surprised. I…oh, right. You have that brain of yours locked up tight. I get it. After…" She glanced at Seneca. "Right, shutting my mouth now."

Taylor took the offered chair next to the blonde, who settled down with her.

"Panacea?"

Lisa nodded. "Yep. It only cost me $2,000, pretty good deal."

"She went commercial?"

Lisa laughed; it wasn't a humorous sound. "Because of meeting you. Now she's a rogue in Philadelphia making very good money. Fifty thousand for instant cosmetic alterations."

She fell silent for a long moment, studying Taylor intently. "Do you understand, Taylor? Do you understand why I did it?"

Taylor was sure Lisa's intuitive power gave her the answer; the question was for Taylor herself more than anyone else. At the time she felt anger and betrayal. But now, after six months of counseling and meditation, she was free. Once she left this building, she could go home on her on with no more obligations than she would have had otherwise.

Only now, she had no sword of Damocles hanging over her head the moment she showed her face to the world.

"Yeah," she said. "I do. What I don't understand is why you're here."

"I'm here for you. Figured I owed you. A lot, actually."

Dan settled in with a thick bundle of forms. "Sarah here will be joining the Wards team here with you, Taylor," he said.

"Sarah?"

Lisa—or Sarah—shrugged. "You're not the only ex-villain. They made me use my legal name. At least I got emancipated from my folks, so it all worked out. Sarah Livsey, an honor to meet you."

She offered a hand which Taylor took after only a moment's hesitation.

Seneca placed two set folders on the table. Taylor's was much, much thicker.

"Sarah is transferring in from San Diego," Seneca said. "So hers is just a transfer completion form. Yours is the full contract."

Craig Banyon explained it to her during probationary hearing. The contract was the difference between her being forced to live at the PRT building as an unwilling Ward of the agency, or living at home as a willing participant.

She read through it, looking for all the clauses Craig warned her to make sure were included, and all the ones he warned her to make sure _weren't_ there. The contract was identical to what he'd showed her two days before after the hearing confirming she'd met the requirements of her sentence.

Sarah already had hers signed and slid back to Seneca. Taylor took her time, quickly reading through until she was satisfied everything matched her expectations. She then signed and dated the form.

"Thank you," Seneca said. He was talking about more than just her handing the contract back to him. "Well, ladies, let's mask up and go get your IDs."

"I thought I was supposed to meet Gasconade," Taylor said.

"Ah, that's a big 'not-gonna-happen'." Sarah said before Seneca could speak. "Trust me, you two would not get along."

Seneca cleared his throat. "We believe there might be some negative power interaction there," the assistant director said. "So, let's go meet your new team."

He led them out of the conference room and back out into the security office. A pair of civilian PRT employees motioned the two new Wards against a wall. Sarah slipped on a white domino mask for her photo, grinning mischievously just as the camera flashed.

Taylor took her position against the wall. The photographer looked from her to Seneca. "Mask?" the woman asked the assistant director.

He posed the question silently to Taylor, who shook her head. "No mask."

The woman shrugged and took the picture. Moments later, the two new Wards were handed not PRT IDs, but Protectorate IDs with their Ward cape names: Insight for Sarah, and Quintessence for her.

"So, is there a separate headquarters for the Protectorate, like in Brockton Bay?" Taylor asked.

Seneca shook his head. "We only have four members of the Protectorate in Seattle," Dan said. "Nutcracker is actually Watchdog working remotely. And before you two, we only had four Wards. So, it just wasn't economical to have a separate building. Come on, I'll show you the Wards quarters."

The elevator Seneca took them to was large—like a freight or hospital elevator. It also moved slowly up from the ground floor. The Brockton Bay PRT building was seventeen floors high. The Seattle PRT building had a larger footprint, but was only eight floors high.

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor. A long, featureless hall bisected the floor. On side of the hall held only a single door. The other appeared to house more rooms. Dan led them to the one isolated door and inserted his badge into the reader before placing his hand on the palm reader.

"There's a ninety-second alarm to allow the Wards to mask up in case of civilian visitors," the AD explained.

"Do you have many visitors?" Taylor asked.

"San Diego had Ward tours every weekend," Sarah said with an impatient huff. "Everything from state senators to elementary schools."

"We're not that bad, but it does happen," Dan said.

The door buzzed open and he led them inside. Taylor wasn't sure what she expected, but a girl in a strangely armored Alice In Wonderland-style pinafore dress with combat boots sprawled over a sofa wasn't it. She wore a white venetian mask over the top of her face, leaving her pouty lips and long, almond-brown hair uncovered.

"Oh, hey, this the new girl?" She spoke in a low, lazy drawl.

"Oh, sweetie, you are so stoned right now, aren't you?" Sarah said.

"It's medicinal," the pouty girl said defensively. "Who the fuck are you supposed to be?"

"Alice," Seneca growled. "That was your deployment supply!"

"I thought there was an alarm!" Alice said.

To Taylor, Sarah said, "She's a breaker. Think Menja and Fenja back home. Only she can't activate her power without drugs. They brewed up a THC cocktail for her, but it's a mental thing. She can get bigger and stronger smoking a joint than taking a pill."

Taylor stared from Sarah to the pouting, deeply inebriated girl on the couch. "You're joking."

"It's not my fault!" Alice proclaimed with a huff.

"No, it isn't," Sarah agreed. Her smile shifted from predatory to conciliatory. "My power makes me a bitch sometimes. But I know it's not your fault. It's nice to meet you. Don't bother getting up, though, we both know you'd fall down."

They stood in what looked like a messy living room, with sofas and an admittedly nice entertainment center that was currently showing Earth Aleph cartoons.

They didn't get much further in before a boy came running out. He wore blue jeans, a blue knit sweater and a Halloween-style wolf mask.

"Sorry! Sorry I was late, sir!" he said breathlessly as he arrived. "Alice was supposed to let me know when you came."

"Yeah, they're here," Alice said lazily from the couch.

The boy rolled his eyes, but then smiled and stepped forward. "I'm Romulus, I'm the team lead. It's great to have you."

To Taylor, the boy felt terrified.

"Likewise," she said with her most harmless smile.

Sarah's grin shifted back to predatory. "He's a werewolf."

"I'm not a werewolf!" Romulus said quickly, eyes-wide. "I don't change under a full moon and any kind of bullet could kill me. I just…'

"Another breaker, turns into a lupine-like creature for up to an hour at any one-time, cumulative total of four hours a day before he's tapped. Brute 4 in his breaker state. Also has a mild thinker rating due to expanded senses while changed."

Seneca shook his head. "Romulus, Alice, this is Insight and Quintessence, our newest wards. Insight is a Thinker 8 transferring from San Diego. And you know…"

"TAYLOR!" A red missile streaked across the room.

Ashwinder launched herself into Taylor's arms, and if not for the Force they would both have toppled.

"You're one of us now!" the girl said, breaking free from the hug to do a little dance. She spun to Alice. "See, you stoner bitch, I told you she was coming!"

Alice flipped Ashwinder off.

"Girls, pretend to be professionals!" Dan said. "And Ashwinder, that's half your allowance in the jar!"

"Totally worth it," Ashwinder said. "Come on, Taylor, I'll show you my room! It's so cool. And the gym is awesome! Did you get to see the obstacle course? They don't let me use it since I burned down the last one, but the new one is really nice…"

Sarah grinned at her before Ashwinder pulled her away.

* * *

A/N: For anyone starts screaming "Porn! Porn most foul!" as Worm readers are sometimes want to do, please re-read that scene carefully and point to any graphic description of _anything_. I can say that because I pointedly edited out any graphic descriptions to ensure compliance with FFN guidelines. As for what happened itself? Well, most folks didn't care for Yuki. A couple did. Yuki's story is not over, though. I wouldn't have included her if she didn't have a role to play. But sometimes a wound can't heal until you rip the band aid off.

And for those worried this is going to turn into a standard Wards fic-it's not. That much I'll promise you.

Stay safe.


	36. Hangovers

A/N: Chap 35 review responses are in my forums as normal. And because Irony spares no one, after my noting how one author was "inspired" by my Nutcracker at Winslow scene, a reader pointed out that another author had already used the name "Insight" for Tattletale. It's not an author I've read, but they used the idea first. So there you have it! Irony, I am thy bitch.

In more sobering news, I hope everyone is well and safe.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Hangovers**

It was after six before Seneca released the two young women from their intake interviews. The next day was going to be a wash of PR and classes, meeting the rest of the Wards, as well the first class of an accelerated driver's licensing program for Taylor. And that was on _top_ of having a social worker come inspect their home.

Which meant Taylor had a choice of requesting a PRT transport back to the other side of the city, or accepting a ride from her newest teammate. "You're only a few months older than I am, are you sure you can drive with me in the car?"

Sarah just grinned and motioned for Taylor to follow. She led Taylor out the same back door they entered. The rain let up, but the clouds still hung low and heavy over the city, given an infernal orange glow from the city lights. They passed through three security checkpoints before they reached the parking lot.

She drove a cherry red convertible. A very expensive cherry red convertible.

"How much are they paying you?" Taylor demanded.

"Get in," Sarah said instead of answering.

The interior was real leather, lovingly oiled to a nice sheen. The car came to life with a confident, powerful purr. Comparing Sarah's car to her old sedan was like comparing a tiger to a kitten. Sarah pulled out of her parking space carefully, her eyes everywhere, until they were free of the mundane and tinkertech security checkpoints and on the street.

"So are you going to tell me why you're really here?" Taylor said. "Because they don't pay Wards enough to buy cars like this, and there's no way in hell you'd go from Brockton Bay to Seattle on your own."

Sarah laughed; it was a happy, almost frantic sound.

"Fuck no, they don't pay enough for this! This was a parting gift from Coil. While you were having fun with all his men, Dinah called the PRT and I fucking robbed the son of a bitch blind. And then I convinced Alexandria to let me keep it."

"And how did you do that?"

"By promising to use it for good," Sarah said. "You hungry? Nutcracker told me about this great seafood place on Portage Bay."

The restaurant looked run-down from the outside—old, weathered wood in need of a new paint job. Inside, though, the smell washed away any concern Taylor had. It could almost have been Josie's back home. She then became aware of the attention they were getting.

Sarah wore her mask still, though her costume consisted of cargo pants and a heavy, blue wool sweater. Taylor was still in her dress from that morning.

The waitress approached the two cautiously, until a loud voice boomed, "Over here!"

Taylor looked across the room at the figure standing in the doorway to what looked like a private room. He wore a casual PRT uniform of light gray long-sleeve button up and black fatigues. His PRT badge dominated the right breast of his shirt.

"We're with them, thanks," Sarah said to the hostess with smile.

The two young capes wove their way through tightly spaced tables filled with mouth-watering food and crowds of fascinated people watching them. When they reached the back room, Taylor did a double-take.

"Scapetti?"

"Get in here, kid. My beer's getting warm."

The two stepped into the private parlor where a mouth-watering buffet took up one wall, with drinks and deserts on a corner table. There were two women with Scapetti in the room—one was a young, lean figure with her black hair shaved almost to her skull. It was Laura Davis, the sniper who lost her leg against Overmind.

She stood now, so she had to have some type of prosthetic.

The other woman was heavier-set but still in good shape. Her hair hung to her shoulders in what almost looked like a typical soccer-mom style. Hazel eyes studied Taylor from behind a black domino mask.

"Horizon?"

"Good to see you, Quintessence," the Protectorate hero said. "Come in and grab some food. Insight, the door?"

Sarah closed the door and then drifted straight to the buffet.

Confused and fighting to keep her shields up, Taylor had to admit she was starving. She grabbed one of the lobsters and went from there. She settled down at the table with the other four.

"Eat," Horizon said. "We can talk after. You've had a long day."

And wasn't that an understatement? Taylor ate. After six months in juvenile detention, the food tasted heavenly and she ate until her sides hurt. Then she had two more bites before she settled back in her seat and studied the others.

Scapetti was telling a joke to his team mate, laughing as if were hilarious while she shook her head in disgust she didn't actually feel. Sarah, beside Taylor, was watching everyone else while she picked at a plate of vegetables.

"I can't eat bugs," she explained when she didn't touch the crab or lobster.

Finally, Horizon cleared her throat. "So, introductions."

She removed her mask to reveal…a perfectly ordinary early thirty-something woman. "Maria Whitworth. I was slated to form a Protectorate team in Anchorage, Alaska. However, when Alexandria told me about her plans for you, I asked to be a part of this. So, I'm the Protectorate Team Leader for the newly chartered Rapid Deployment Protectorate Team."

She looked to her left.

"Special Agent Linda Davis," the lean woman said. "I'm PRT-trained, specializing in special weapons. Sniper and tinker tech."

"Charles Scapetti," the scarred man said. "Former marine, joined PRT after the Furlough of '06. Senior Agent in Charge."

It was Sarah's turn. She took off her mask. "Sarah Livsey. Former unwilling villain, former burn victim, Thinker 8. Think of Sherlock on speed. I'm alive because of you, Taylor. And this whole thing? My idea. Or at least, the details are mine. I think Alexandria already had an idea."

And suddenly what the girl said earlier made sense. "And Coil's money?"

"The best kind of team is one that doesn't cost too much," Sarah said with a grin.

"That's how Legend got the team approved," Horizon—Maria—admitted. "Our start-up budget is just barely enough to cover salaries, benefits and basic equipment. Enough to rent an old building. Washington believes it's because we're just lip-service to one of Costa-Brown's pet senators. But mainly it's because Dragon examined your tinker-tech and believes that we won't really need a lot of equipment."

She was aware that everyone was looking at her. "My life has been on television for the past year. Fairly certain you know who I am."

"Not in your own words," Maria said. "Who is Quintessence?"

Feeling silly, Taylor said her name. Then… "My power isn't what you think. I don't have a ton of different powers like Eidolon. My power is a key, letting me access energy that's already there. It's how my telepathy works; my telekinesis. It's how I know there are eighty-nine people in this place outside those doors, four of which are PRT agents. They feel familiar—your team, Scapetti."

The SAC gave a pleased nod.

"And your tinker-tech?" Horizon asked.

Taylor shrugged. "My power came with a user's manual. Memories. From someone who died long ago, in a galaxy far, far away. I don't have tinker-tech, I have knowledge. I understand the physics and engineering of everything I make. It's just thousands of years more advanced than what we have."

"So, what are we talking about?" Scapetti asked. "Weapons?"

"Weapons. Transport. Medicine. Artificial intelligence."

"Like those laser batons of yours?" Davis asked.

Taylor shook her head. "Those are special. Only someone with my skillset can use them. But I can build you actual stun batons of similar design. I just…why me?"

"You're the lynchpin," Sarah said. "With Overmind and the Leviathan fight, Thinktank identified a mild master-effect in the theater. You made everyone fight _better_. Noticeably. I was monitoring the Leviathan fight for Coil, and I saw it. Even Legend noticed."

_Battle meditation._ Taylor's memories supplied the information.

"You know what it is," Sarah said with a chuckle. "Of course, you do. So, here's the idea. You know how the Guild goes after the worst of the worst in Canada and even the world? We're going to be the Protectorate version of the Guild. We're authorized to pick up maybe three or four other capes. Scapetti's team will be our PRT boots. And we'll go after the worst of the worst."

"But…what about…school, and Wards and all that crap?"

"You'll have to attend school," Maria said. "But you've tested out of all your STEM courses. So, you'll only have to do three to four hours of school a day, the rest will be vocational. Meaning us. The school's for the suits in Washington and the papers. Meanwhile, we'll use some of that stolen money of Sarah's to build a training facility in the Exclusion Zone near your house because the land is essentially free, and we'll get this team moving. If you're on board."

The question surprised Taylor.

"I have a choice?"

Sarah snorted. "Of course you have a choice, doofus. The whole concept won't work as well without you, if it works at all. If you just want to be a regular Ward, just say the word. I bet Alice might even share some of her stash with you if you ask nicely enough."

"What other capes were you thinking about?" Taylor asked.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Was my visit home your idea, too?" Taylor asked back in the car, after dinner was finished and they'd spent an hour hammering out details.

With Sarah's power, she understood that Taylor wasn't talking about the RDPT.

"They freed Yuki and me from the foam in the same room," Sarah said after a moment's heavy silence. She wasn't smiling anymore; if anything she looked faintly ill. "Left us sitting together for a while in a cell while they tried to figure out what to do with you. We had a chance to talk, me and Yuki. The only thing you guys every did together was train or have sex. She hated the training, and you hated the sex."

"So?"

"Taylor…" The other girl actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. "You know, my power really sucks sometimes. The last time I actually tried to do anything with a boy, I knew everything about him before the first kiss. Dental habits, hygiene, preferred positions. I could tell from his body language and his micro-expressions what he wanted, and it just…ruined it. Completely ruined it. I ran to the bathroom and puked my guts out, and I realized I just couldn't date. Not ever."

She glanced over to Taylor briefly. "I got a lot from Yuki. She never saw you as a person, Taylor. She _can't_. Something important in her never got a chance to form. She doesn't even have the capacity to see you as a human being with flaws. You are her god. And she worshipped you the only way a horribly abused little girl knew how—by fucking you as hard as she could. She just couldn't understand that's not what you wanted from her. If you went insane and murdered everyone in the city, she'd be right there with you because you can't be wrong to her. She scared the fuck out of me. Because if you told her to kill me, she would."

"It didn't stop her from cheating on me."

"That's just it, Taylor. It wasn't cheating, not to her. It was just sex. She was trained by her uncle to view sex as a commodity. It's the only currency she has, and she trades it for favors. If you're depressed, you eat ice cream. She wants sex. If she's happy, sex. It's her answer to everything. And it was eventually going to drive you nuts, because you don't actually swing that way. You never have. This way…"

She stopped, but Taylor understood. "This way she has someone else to take care of her."

"Yeah. I'm kind of jealous, too. If I could have a relationship? Obsidian's a stand-up kind of guy."

"And hung like a horse."

"My power told me that. But you saw it, didn't you?"

"Holy shit, I did. I'm amazed Yuki could walk." Taylor looked out over the road. It started raining again, making Sarah slow just to be safe as they headed south over the obliterated heart of old Downtown. "The worst part is that I'm just not mad about it."

Sarah shrugged. "You're a smart girl, Taylor. You knew it wasn't going to work. I'd imagined you felt either relieved or…no, free. You felt free."

"So, you want me to thank you?"

Sarah shook her head. "No. But…a place to crash might be nice. I came in from San Diego this morning. And I was confined to the Protectorate Wards base in San Diego while I was there. Six-month probationary status, you see." She glanced at Taylor and backtracked. "I mean…if not, I get it. I can get a hotel or something."

"It's fine, I just don't have a spare bed set up."

After a few minutes of driving, Sarah said in a small voice: "I'm sorry."

They pulled up to the house twenty minutes later. Taylor used the Force to open the garage—the little, beaten up sedan was gone. Sarah pulled into the lighted space and said nothing as Taylor climbed out of the car and closed the door behind them.

All of Sarah's personal belongings fit into a single PRT-black duffel back that she threw over her shoulder. She followed Taylor without saying a word out of the garage and into the kitchen and dining area. The lights were off; the cake was on the counter right where Taylor saw it last.

Sarah tactfully said nothing about the misspelling.

"Full tour?"

"Sure."

Taylor led her out into the old sanctuary. The floor's training mats gave a little a little under her feet.

"Training area. We don't have a lot of equipment, but I suppose we could get some." She pointed out the offices above the former front entrance of the church.

"Could be spare bedrooms, I guess."

They went up the stairs. Taylor could smell Yuki in the air—not just the musk of her sweat, but also the floral perfume she preferred, and the cherry-scented shampoo. Taylor showed Sarah the guest suite that had its own restroom but no furniture, and then her bedroom.

It was the only room that actually looked lived-in.

"Holy shit this place is a pig-sty."

"Huh, I guess I didn't notice that much before," Taylor admitted.

The room was covered in fast-food wrappers, take-out bags and half-empty cartons. Liquor bottles filled almost every available surface, some empty but none completely full. Taylor saw not one, but three separate bongs and a few other paraphernalia that explained some of the more obnoxious smells.

"All Yuki," Sarah said, as if reading Taylor's mind. "Obsidian's a high-level brute. Drugs don't work on him. He might have drunk some, but the hard stuff is all Yuki. Damn, that girl is seriously fucked up."

Frowning, Taylor strode through the room to the safe. It stood open and empty—all the money she'd earned reduced to a few measly dollars. Gone to drugs, Taylor guessed.

"I have some cots in the garage, from before we got all this done," Taylor said. "Cots, sleeping bags and spare pillows."

"That sounds pretty good," Sarah agreed.

They set the cots up in the spare bedroom.

While Sarah was preparing hers, Taylor ventured back into the other bedroom. In the closet, she found her things untouched and covered in a thin layer of dust. Even her toiletries were right where she left them. She gathered some pajamas and her toiletries before returning to the other room.

She walked in as Sarah was finishing a call.

"That was Seneca. I bought us the weekend," she said. "We have to be at PRT headquarters Monday at 8 am sharp, but we're free until then. Only thing tomorrow will be the Social Worker. I figured you don't want to put that off."

"Thanks," Taylor said, more relieved than she would have believed.

"Well, the place is filthy and I doubt there's any real food in your kitchen. And that safe of yours might be empty, but I have an American Express linked to my accounts. So, my treat. Furniture, clothes, equipment, food, whatever we need."

"Right now, I need a shower."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Sarah liked to shop. The experience of shopping with her the next day was so polar opposite of Yuki it left Taylor a little breathless.

The first thing they bought were red-tinted oval sunglasses to hide Taylor's black eyes and baseball caps for their hair. Sarah took an odd pleasure in braiding Taylor's hair to fit through the opening on the back of a hat. There was nothing sensual at all, rather it just felt like something she might have done with Emma. If it were Yuki, she would have been nuzzling Taylor's neck and pawing at her breasts.

It felt odd to walk around openly on a Saturday, just two ordinary teenage girls, shopping in stores Taylor would never have bothered with on her own. They shopped for everything from clothes to furnishings.

They ate lunch at a ridiculously overpriced bistro near the University. Sarah took great pleasure shooting down a handsome college boy who started snooping around.

"We're both underage, Don Juan," she told him with a vulpine grin.

Playing along, Taylor grinned. "I don't know, he's awfully cute. It might be worth him going to jail."

Rather than take offense, the young man actually laughed. "That's me told. You two are way too much trouble for me."

When he walked away, Sarah sighed wistfully. "He would have been a good catch. Upper middle class, hard worker. He's pre-med. Prefers anal, though."

Taylor turned and stared. "Bullshit."

"You can sense lies. You tell me. He was staring at your ass when you walked out. Doesn't care about what's up top or what's in front."

Taylor tried not to sputter. "Pre-med, huh?"

"He's also smart enough to not fall for jailbait. We're dressed and acting older than our ages, he just couldn't tell."

Taylor met the other girl's eyes. Sarah stared back, still with that wistful smile. "I sense a new laptop in my future," the Thinker said.

"Oh, do you?"

She did; a very expensive laptop, with a dedicated docking station and three separate wide-screen LCD monitors to go with it.

So the day went; two teenage girls shopping as if they had rich parents. The furniture items they bought were to be delivered Sunday. They returned to the house long enough to drop off their purchases before they went on a second shopping trip for groceries and dinner.

They sat at the dining room table after the sun set, dwarfed by the space around them, eating Pad Thai. They finished with cake.

"Buy 'n Large," Sarah said with a sigh of disappointment. "Box cake from a box store."

Taylor had to admit it wasn't very good. But she'd have eaten it, if Yuki was there. And then they would have had sex, and…

…and she was crying. And Sarah was there, sitting next to her with an arm around her shoulder without saying a word.

"She never visited," Taylor said when the worst of the storm passed. "She never called or wrote. I thought she'd be there when I got out, but instead she was here fucking Todd."

"Todd? Obsidian's name is Todd?"

"He looked like a god,. His name could have been Susan and he'd make it sound good," Taylor muttered. "I just… It never felt right, but I tried. I was so lonely—so tired of being alone—that I tried. And I thought it meant something. But…but…"

"But she was broken, and you couldn't fix her," Sarah said. She reached over and pulled Taylor's chin over. Again, there was nothing sensual about the move. Rather, it felt motherly.

"Listen, Taylor. Use your power and listen to me. You can't fix her. She'd need a lifetime of therapy to fix what her uncle did to her. All you could do is waste your life trying to love someone who isn't capable of loving you back. I know it hurts, but… Shit. I know it hurts. I'm sorry."

Taylor responded by gathering up the trash from their meal, piling it on top of the cake, and throwing it all away.

"Wait here," Lisa said.

She ran upstairs, and returned moments later with a bottle of amber fluid. Taylor watched in silence she took two of their four glasses and poured them each a shot of the whiskey.

"You know this stuff is shit," Taylor said.

"Sweetie, there's sipping whiskey, and there's rotgut. And there's a time and place for each." She held up her glass. "Fuck the exes."

Grinning weakly, Taylor wiped her eyes and clinked her glass to the other. "Fuck the exes."

Both girls coughed and gasped. "Holy fuck, that burns," Sarah said.

She poured another anyway and raised it up. "Fuck Coil!"

"Fuck Coil," Taylor agreed.

It didn't burn quite as much as the second time.

"Fuck Emma Barnes!"

"Fuck Accord!"

"Fuck Rime!"

"Who?"

"Alexandria's second. God I hate that bitch so much," Sarah said. "She kept putting moves on me! I'm like sixteen…wait. Fuck. Seventeen! I'm underaged! She's like…a twenty-something. Fuck. How many is this?"

"The bottle's gone."

"Oh. Gonna hurt tomorrow."

"I've got ibuprofen. Take two before you sleep."

Sarah nodded, then took Taylor's hand in hers while continuing to nod shakily.

"You listen, 'kay. Not ever gonna fuck you, 'cause that's gross. Won't ever…do that shit Yuki did. But I'll be your friend. You fuckin' saved my life, Taylor. I was gonna die, and you saved me. And I love you for that. Just…God, how did you even get off? How does that even work with girls?"

"Sarah, are you a homophobe?"

"I'm not a homo, that's…my…what? No, I mean, did you guys use dildos or something?"

"No."

"Oh, you poor girl. You never got off, did you? Just…just… Oh, wow. I'm a little drunk. My power says I have a face, but I can't feel it."

She slapped her face, giggled at the slapping sound, and then slumped over the table.

Taylor too was definitely feeling the effects of the cheap whiskey. She leaned over and ran a hand through Sarah's hair.

"I'm glad you're here."

Naturally, that's when the Social Worker knocked on the front door.


	37. Picking Up The Pieces

A/N: Chap 36 review responses on in my forums.

Like many of you, the situation we're experiencing right now has forced changes in my daily life. I am, and remain, incredibly lucky that my spouse and I are able to work from home. Other's have suffered much more because of loss of hours or jobs entirely, or the illness itself. A part of me cannot help but worry about what the future holds for my family personally, and for the world at large.

There's not a lot I can personally do, but for what little it's worth I can hopefully provide a little free entertainment to occupy those of you stuck at home. That's why, at least for the remainder of this story, I'm going to commit to two postings a week. Starting this week, I will post Saturday mornings _and_ Tuesday evenings. The story has a total of 49 chapters with a short epilogue, so with two chapters a week it should be done posting in six weeks instead of the original scheduled twelve.

I know it's not much, but it's what I have and I offer it freely to anyone who wants to read it.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Picking Up the Pieces**

With the Force, many things were possible. Taylor could run faster than a speeding car and leap distances that bordered on flight. And, when necessary, she could use the Force to sober herself up.

Unfortunately, what the Force could _not_ do was freshen her breath. When she opened the door for the squat, tired-looking Social Worker and said "Hello!" the woman immediately knew Taylor had been drinking.

Taylor learned this not from the Force, but by the woman exclaiming, "Are you drunk?"

"Not…now." Taylor blinked and smiled. "Come in."

Frowning intensely, the woman stepped through the front doors. "I'll have you know that opening the door under the influence is not going to help your case at all."

"I'm not under the influence," Taylor said.

"I can smell it on your breath."

"I was trying to be supportive for my friend."

The woman looked past Taylor, across the training room, to where Sarah lay passed out on the table. "She's been drinking?"

"Oh yeah, she's completely plastered," Taylor admitted. "You ever hear of Lung? The Dragon of Kyushu?"

"Yes."

"Well, we're both from Brockton Bay. A few months ago he burned her almost to death, ripped out her left eye, and left her permanently scarred. Then she was captured and enslaved by a supervillain named Coil without real treatment for her burns. After I saved her she got Panacea to heal her, but she's had a bad couple of months. So, you know, I let her get drunk and cry it off. I'll heal her tomorrow from her hangover and we'll just move on. So, ah…do you want a tour?"

Taylor had to admit Cheryl Gutierrez kept her cool. Or, she was so overworked and cynical that she just had no more fucks to give. They started the tour of the mostly empty house.

"So, do you have transportation?" Mrs. Gutierrez asked.

"Her car's in the garage. I'm scheduled for an accelerated license program Monday, so I should have a license soon. Then I'll get some wheels."

They walked around the daintily snorting, passed-out thinker.

"Did you build this place yourself? This used to be a church before Leviathan, didn't it?"

"Yeah. I hired an engineer and general contractor to refurbish the place. He brought in a crew and did it on commission over the course of two months. He did a great job, didn't he?"

The Social worker tested the water taps. "You're not on any utilities. Did you dig a well?

"No, I have a vaporator in the steeple that fills a water tank. Everything's gravity fed."

"What's a vaporator?"

"Tinker-tech device that condenses water out of the air. Around here, it's unlimited."

"And electricity?"

"I have a nuclear fusion generator in the basement," Taylor said.

The woman blinked. "I'm serious, young lady. How are you getting power for the house?"

"I have a nuclear fusion generator in the basement," Taylor said again. "Dragon and the PRT reviewed the tech and it's still here, so they mustn't have had a problem with it."

"Sewer?"

"Septic tank. I didn't build it, my contractor did. Leach field and everything."

The tour continued, room by room, until they hit Taylor's bedroom.

"Oh my God," said the woman with no more fucks to give.

"Well, shit," Taylor agreed.

She and Sarah never finished cleaning up, and there was enough alcohol and drugs on display to inebriate and entire political convention.

"I think I've seen enough," Mrs. Gutierrez said.

"Before you go, there's one thing you need to see," Taylor said. "Please."

She led her to the spare bedroom, with the two cots. "This is where Insight and I slept last night. Did they tell you anything about me? About what I was doing yesterday?"

The woman walked around the room, then peeked into the bathroom. "I don't live in a cave, Miss Hebert. You're all over the news. You were released from custody. I'm here to assess your living conditions, and what I saw in that room…"

"Was from a girlfriend I kicked out of the house yesterday," Taylor said. "I just didn't have time to clean the room yet. I spent most of the day at the PRT, and after I was meeting with a new potential Protectorate team. I just haven't had time to clean."

Taylor realized she was begging, but she couldn't help it. The emancipation meant too much. If this woman refused to sign off, then she would be remanded a foster family.

"Miss Hebert, you have to know how this looks."

"I do. But ma'am, the PRT rushed this inspection because Alexandria needs me, and they know I won't cooperate as a prisoner in foster care. Thing is, I _just_ got out. I couldn't have made this mess. I mean…" She stepped into her room and moved trash with her foot. "It's months of filth. I couldn't live like this."

Then inspiration hit.

"Come back next week," she said. "Any day. Insight's furniture should come tomorrow. We'll have all this cleaned up and you'll see how I normally live. Just give me some time to make it my home again, please."

Mrs. Gutierrez pursed her lips in disgust at the mess. "Fine, Monday morning."

Taylor couldn't help but sigh with relief. "Thank you, Ma'am."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"If my power let me, I would totally kiss you right now," Sarah said when Taylor removed her hand from the other girl's forehead.

"The social worker came while you were passed out on my table."

Sarah's eyes bulged out. "Oh, fuck." She jumped to her feet. "I'll call Dan and…"

"I talked my way out of it, mostly. She's coming back Monday morning. If you have to call, call to tell them that we'll be late."

"Yeah, okay. I'll do that."

After a breakfast of sugary cereal, they started cleaning up Taylor's bedroom. Taylor noticed that Sarah didn't get rid of the alcohol, though she was quick enough to destroy the stash of pills, baggies of white powder and crystals they found.

"She did all of that?" Taylor said after running across the fourth stash.

"I'd say this was just what she _didn't_ do," Sarah noted. "Explains all the wrecks she had before she got her provisional license yanked."

They got everything bagged for the fusion generators and the carpet vacuumed with a liberal dose of Arm 'n Hammer for the smell and some judiciously applied carpet cleaner for the various stains. When at last the room was cleaned and the bed mattress flipped and linens washed, Sarah stared intently at the night tables, the dresser and the wide, low chest the TV rested in, all in the white pine that Yuki preferred.

"That's not your color," she said.

Taylor sat on the edge of the bed and shrugged.

"Use your brain muscles. We'll switch—the stuff I bought is all cherry wood, you'll like it more. My rooms gets less light—the lighter colors will work better there."

At Sarah's continuous prodding, Taylor levitated hers and Yuki's bedroom furniture into Lisa's room just in time for the new furniture to arrive. Taylor went down to meet the delivery men, only to see Raul Lopez standing just outside the front door.

"You're back," he said with a smile. Behind him, two other large men waited to bring the furniture in.

"Raul!" She stepped out to hug the man. "It's so good to see you. How's the family?"

"Good, good," he said. Over his shoulder, he told the other two to get started.

Sarah drifted down to supervise the men; she'd slipped her mask on. All of them paused when they saw her.

"Oh, don't worry boys, I'm not the one who can kill you with my mind," she assured them with a sparkling smile.

That didn't seem to reassure them. Still, the two men started getting ready to move in the various items Sarah purchased the day before. Taylor, meanwhile, led Raul into the training room and out of the way.

"Has Maria heard from Yuki?"

The smile faded. "Yeah, heard all about Friday. Cryin' and bawlin' 'n shit. Maria finally told her to grow up and get out. Obsidian says she's gonna be okay, I guess. How 'bout you? Claire said one of her girls saw you in the joint, said you were runnin' the place."

_Missy._ "Yeah. I made the best of it. Do me a favor, okay? Tell Claire to pass on to Matador that I can't run the clinic. I'm a Ward, and I'm still under Probation. But let 'em know I won't target them if they keep their heads down. I have a feeling I'm going to be working out of town a lot."

"I'll let him know."

"And let your dad know I might have some more business for him. The big, professional kind."

Raul grinned. "Okay. So, who's the new girl? She's cute."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Sunday afternoon, after the new furniture was set up and Sarah had an actual bedroom with a desk for her fancy laptop and monitors, Taylor made her way down into the lab for the first time since she was released.

The house had power, so she knew _something_ had to still be generating the energy. She hoped it was her molecular furnace, but she also knew from the tape across the door that the PRT had been through her lab.

When she walked down into the dusty lab, she was relieved to find her large, primary furnace happily chomping away in power generation mode. Fortunately, Yuki retained enough presence of mind to throw at least some of her trash into the hopper. The machine itself wasn't producing material, which is why it was able to continue running on so little material. It was simply breaking down the trash to power the house, a few molecules at a time. A sheet of paper could have powered the house for a week at that rate. The bags of trash that she and Sarah collected could run the house for a decades on that mode.

Her two other generators were there, the smaller of which had PRT tape and a tag stating Dragon had examined it. Everything else, though, was gone. All of the precious metals and meta materials she had left over from her vaporators and the things she was making for her factory droid was gone. Her computers were gone too, though Taylor doubted even Dragon would make much headway. She'd programmed the computers in Droid binary and Basic. Still, she'd need a new set of computers before she could do much.

A knock brought her mind back to the present. Sarah was walking down the stairs.

"Oh, that is so cool," she said. "Let me guess. A fusion reactor that can reformat matter and print shit out for you?"

"Your power is bullshit, you know that?"

"You'd be amazed how often I hear that. Or say it for that matter. Of course, I might have read Dragon's report. So, switching gears, Armsmaster is up front. Wants to come in and talk to you about your tech."

Taylor stared for a moment, confused. "What?"

"Armsmaster."

"Armsmaster, the Tinker from across the fucking country that tried to kill me after Leviathan?"

Sarah's smile turned a little ragged. "Yeah. And he doesn't look happy to be here."

"Fuck. I don't have my lightsabers! If he attacks me, I'd have to use the Force on him!"

"He's not going to attack," Sarah said. "That much I know."

With a confusing mix of anger and trepidation, Taylor made her way out of her lab with Sarah at her side. They walked through the training room to the original wooden double doors at the front of the building. Opening the doors, Taylor was surprised to find that the man in front of her was not dressed in futuristic armor.

He stood right at six feet. His slacks were bunched at the waist, tightened by a belt but obviously loose on his thin frame. His left arm was gone at the shoulder, the white button-up shirt tactfully folded up no itself. A thin, slightly waisted face might have been handsome once, but looked haggard and drawn now. His beard looked bushy and untrimmed. A pair of square glasses sat slightly crooked on his face under a mop of unkempt auburn hair.

He stood holding three large black laptops in his good arm, and a little leather satchel hanging from his fingers.

"Miss Hebert," he said. His voice sounded rough and scratchy. "My name is Colin Wallace. I believe I have some of your property."

He motioned with his arm. Cautiously, Taylor took the leather pouch first. She sensed no danger from the man. When she opened the pouch, she couldn't help but stare.

"My lightsabers."

"Yes. And your computers. Your local tinker, Energon, collected them after your arrest for evidence and submitted them to Dragon for review. The computers are not damaged."

"I'll take those, Armsy, thanks!" Sarah darted forward to take the three laptops.

The one-armed man winced at the term.

"Thank you, have a good day," Taylor said, hoping he'd take the hint.

He didn't.

"Miss Hebert, I recognize that I…that you…" He floundered a moment before bowing his head. "She wasn't really my friend, Miss Hebert. I hardly knew Miss Militia outside of work. I respected her, and I trusted her, but I couldn't say we were friends. What she was to me was a crutch. And without her, I fell. And instead of blaming myself, I blamed you. I am sorry."

It felt rehearsed. The body movements, the tone. The way he ducked his head. He meant every word, that much Taylor could sense in the Force, but nonetheless, the whole thing felt like a performance.

Beside her, Sarah snorted. "You spent days practicing that, didn't you?"

"Just two," he admitted without blinking an eye. "Dragon reminded me that I did try to kill you after you were unmasked. She rightfully pointed out that you were unlikely to hear me out without a sincere apology. I trust your powers are, between the two of you, sufficient to determine the veracity of my statements?"

"And there's the Armsy we all know and love," Sarah said.

"Why are you here?" Taylor said. She knew her voice sounded cold; she couldn't help it.

"I am here for a friend who needs help that she believes only you can provide her. And she is willing to pay for that help."

"Well come on in, then!" Sarah said before Taylor had a chance to say no.

Taylor sensed her friend's power had intuited something that still escaped her, so she stepped back and let Sarah lead the injured tinker into their home.

Wallace's eyes covered everything at once, quickly assessing the interior space for threats before assuring himself there were none. He followed Sarah around the training floor with Taylor a step behind. She noticed how stiffly the man walked, and realized after a moment that he was in a great deal of pain in his back and left knee.

"Are you here as part of the Protectorate?" Taylor asked on a hunch.

"No," he admitted.

"Medical leave," Sarah said over her shoulder. "With a possible forced retirement from the field."

If anything, he stiffened more. "Medical records are confidential."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Sarah lied. "I did my probationary Wards stint with Watchdog. I was part of the evaluation team for you. If it helps, I voted to allow you to remain on partial duty. Your power wasn't hurt, just your body. Taylor's probably already sensed your fucked up knee and spine."

"With bruising to his kidney," Taylor added. "You're probably still peeing blood even six months after the fight."

He said nothing. Lisa led them into the kitchen; she placed the three laptops on the kitchen counter.

"Sit," she said.

Armsmaster stiffly sat. Taylor sank into the seat opposite him and deliberately removed both lightsabers, placing them on the table top. And Sarah…started digging in the fridge.

"Why didn't you get Panacea or Othalla to heal you after Leviathan?" Taylor asked.

From the kitchen, Sarah snorted but didn't say anything.

Wallace actually winced. Visibly, as if slapped.

"I…" He awkwardly cleared his throat. "My actions against you angered New Wave sufficiently that they refused treatment. After Panacea went Rogue, she...also refused to treat me."

"She told you to go fuck yourself with your halberd," Sarah tossed in from the kitchen.

"Yes." It obviously pained him to admit it. "You'd just offered to restore three of their members. They took my actions against you personally."

To Colin Wallace's shock, Sarah stepped back with a plate full of ham and cheese sandwiches.

"You haven't eaten in over a day. Coffee doesn't count. Taylor will be personally offended if you pass out in her house. I'd just laugh at you." She finished the meal with a bag of cheesy corn chips and several bottles of water.

Colin stared at the plate in bewilderment for a long moment. The hand grabbed a sandwich with shook slightly. "Thank you."

He then ate half the tray, quickly and with an almost mindless desperation. Taylor opened her senses more fully and realized just how weak and exhausted the man was; physically and mentally. Sarah opened the bag of chips and he ate them by the handful. Finally, he washed it all down with the bottle of water.

When he was done, she could feel his embarrassment.

"Thank you," he said again

Sarah shrugged and looked at Taylor.

"Watchdog keeps a file on all the best Tinkers," she explained to Taylor, as if he wasn't there. "Those under Protectorate care are all assigned a keeper to ensure they eat and sleep. But Armsmaster here was the head of his team and dismissed his keeper. Miss Militia stepped into that role with his director's blessing, and Dragon helped."

She turned her piercing attention back to Armsmaster. "And that's who you're here for now, right? Dragon? Of course. She's in trouble, and you think…" Sarah's eyes widened. "Holy. Fuck."

"So I don't have to go digging into your thoughts, why don't you just tell me why you're here," Taylor said.

Wallace nodded firmly. "Yes. Last month, I learned that my friend Dragon was…not human."

With that simple statement, everything Taylor knew about Dragon just _clicked._ The suits. The digital voice. The droid brain in her transport. Her _inability_ to help Taylor.

"Right. Because she's a droid. An artificial sentience."

"You mean Artificial Intelligence?" Sarah asked.

"No, Sentience. Because she's fully sentient, isn't she, Mr. Wallace?"

The tinker nodded. "She is. Moreover, she's a cape. She experienced a trigger event and has a Thinker power related to understanding and replicating Tinker-tech."

"How'd she do with mine?" Taylor asked.

He frowned, but not in anger. "She could not decipher it. Her power did not work on your reactor."

"Because it's not tinker tech," Taylor said. "I understand the mathematics behind it. It's just based on a branch of hyperdimensional physics Earth hasn't discovered yet."

"Like your lightsabers there? They should not have contained beams. I could duplicate everything in them and have a very powerful laser, but not a sword."

She nodded. "So, Dragon's an artificial sentience. She seems to have done good so far. What's the problem?"

"She allowed me to come to Vancouver to examine her…code," he said. He blushed as if he were talking about having wild monkey sex with her instead of just looking at her program. "And I have determined that her original creator installed a kill code in her. And we believe that kill code is in the hands of a mercenary band that has successfully stolen from her in the past."

Sarah whistled. "Shit. The Dragonslayers. If that's true, that means they can see everything she sees; hear everything she hears. Wow."

"Indeed." He looked intently at one of the other bottles before Taylor undid the cap and handed it to him.

"Thank you." He drained it just like he did the first. "Narwhal and the rest of the Guild are looking for the Dragonslayers, but the fact remains that Dragon is arguably the most important cape in the world. She runs and maintains the Birdcage. She handles Endbringer communications and provides transport services. Her company represents almost five percent of the technology sector for the entire Western world. And with the push of a button she can be killed. That's an unacceptable liability to the Protectorate. And to me."

"So what, do you want Taylor to reprogram her or…wait…"

Taylor, though, understood. "She deciphered my laptops."

"Your technology was beyond her, but your laptops were not. She translated the language you were using in two minutes. She would like you to build her what you called a droid brain. And she is prepared to pay you fifty million for it."

The amount staggered Taylor. "Fifty million?"

"Dragontech is a Fortune 500 company," Lisa noted. "She definitely has money, since she does most everything herself. What would a droid brain mean, though?"

"It would make her killable," Taylor said. "The kind of droid brain she would want is a mechanical positronic matrix that mimics a human brain. The one I was playing with had the computational power of most of the laptops in the country combined and then multiplied by a factor of ten. But the sentience is fully contained within the brain. No duplication, no copies. You can back up data, but once she downloaded into it, that would be it. She would be that droid, and a single blast from Legend or even my lightsaber could kill her."

"Fifty million," Wallace repeated. "She understood enough of your notes to know the limitations. The limitations her creator put on her are actually even more restrictive. To put it metaphorically, she wants to be a human woman, with all the limitations that implies."

Taylor tapped the table as she considered. "It's going to take time. I have the theoretical knowledge, but I'm going to have to be producing the material from scratch."

"We both understand." He cleared his throat. "This…Miss Hebert, if this gets out, it would end her. The laws on the books about AIs treat them as Class-S threats. She'd be destroyed just on principle. Please keep this between us."

The table fell into a moment of silence. Taylor could sense his hope that she would offer to heal him. Sarah sensed it as well.

"If you want healing, Armsmaster, you need to contact the PRT and put in a request for me," Taylor said at last. "I'm a probationary Ward, after all. Don't want to violate the terms of my probation."

It was more than she wanted to give, but less than he wanted. It felt fair.

"Yes, you're right. Thank you." He stood, slowly and stiffly. "And thank you both for the meal. And for your time. If you have any questions, contact me directly." He slipped a business card on the table. "I'll see myself out."

Taylor tracked his progress in the Force, wincing despite herself at the sheer amount of physical pain the man was in.

"He refuses pain meds because of the risk of addiction and the effects on his faculties," Lisa said, also staring after him. "Work and Dragon are all he has, and both are under threat. Are you going to heal him?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

Taylor found herself tapping the table. "I took his lifeline away. I think he's paid enough. Besides, it'll look great to my probation officer and the court when they decide my emancipation status. I guess I better get to work."

* * *

A/N: Coming this Tuesday-Taylor's new team loves and hates her super-duper hangover-cure power.


	38. License to Thrive

A/N: As promised, here is my first Tuesday posting in... since Christmas before last, if I remember correctly. Before that? Never. Like normal, review responses are in my forums for anyone interested. Next post will be Saturday morning like normal. I hope everyone stays safe.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: License to Thrive**

"I really should have given you more time with the Social Worker," Dan said as he walked her through the PRT headquarters toward the PR office. "We knew that Ms. Ishikawa was using; she's actually wanted on several counts of underage possession and DWI. She just uses her power and walks out of custody. Because her behavior was not a public risk, the Seattle PD and PRT both deferred it as a minor PRT issue."

Taylor had to admit she appreciated the fact that Dan showed up _with_ Mrs. Gutierrez for the second inspection. It went much better—with the many bottles of alcohol safely hidden and all signs of the drugs fed into the hopper of her main furnace—Gutierrez had nothing to complain about. It wasn't many teenaged girls who could claim a 12,000 square foot home with unlimited running water and electricity free from any mortgage or city bills.

Sarah had to go in for her own duties, so Dan drove her back north to the PRT headquarters. And their first destination, once they were in, was the Public Relations Department.

Horizon was waiting for her, grinning.

"Busted, 'eh?" she asked with a laugh. "And here we thought Quintessence was all squeaky clean."

Dan chuckled. "When Cheryl demanded if Taylor was drunk, she said, 'I'm not now.'"

The two adults laughed uproariously.

Taylor snorted. "My dad ran a Dockworker's union. I've been sneaking his Jameson since I was ten. And I can use my power to get sober again in seconds."

Horizon's laugh died. "That is so unfair."

Taylor shrugged. "I can heal hangovers, too."

With that, they got to work determining Taylor's official Wards costume. Needless to say they weren't going to let her keep her old costume.

However, once they sat down with the department's PR designer, Mary Courtmanche and saw the first sketch ideas, it became obvious that Seneca and Horizon had radically different ideas. Courtmanche and Seneca seemed to be on the same page, having drawn up between them an innocuous bodysuit in primary colors of blue and yellow, with a skirt and a little epaulette on her left shoulder. It looked bland, generic and harmless.

And Horizon would have nothing to do with it.

"She's going to be in combat," the older cape said for the third time that morning. "She doesn't need to wear a costume that says, 'Here I am, shoot me!'. She needs tactical gear!"

"She's sixteen!" Seneca said. "If we dress her up like a soldier, the press will have a field day!"

They'd been going at for half an hour now, the four of them standing around a graphic design table. Taylor stepped closer to Courtmanche, who appeared to be a young, attractive woman in her twenties in a slimming pinstripe skirt and blouse. She reminded Taylor of Entourage, if she were honest.

"So, Insight tells me I'm a Winter," Taylor said quietly to the designer as Seneca and Horizon argued. "It's pretty obvious I'm going to have two costumes. I'll take care of my tactical costume—I'm going to incorporate some tinker elements into it anyway. For my public Wards costume, could we go with earthen colors? I'd also want loose and flexible, not this skin-tight stuff. Darker slacks—maybe brown with a matching half skirt, open in the front."

Courtmanche sketched as Taylor spoke. The costume looked simple and slightly militaristic in the half-jacket that went over the polycarbonate fiber weave that Courtmanche insisted on for the tunic—it was the same tinker fabric the Triumvirate used in their costumes.

She took Courtmanche's light pen and sketched out the Bendu symbol—one black flame, one white, with a saber point rising between them over a field of counter-colored stars. White on black, black on white.

"I've never seen that symbol," Courtmanche said. "What does it mean?"

"Balance," Taylor said. "My power works best when my emotions are balanced. What do you think?"

"I like it," the designer said. "Mask?"

Taylor shook her head. "Not for my light duty costume. I'm already outed."

She became aware of the fact that the argument between Seneca and Horizon was done. They were both looking at the sketch.

"Still looks vaguely like a cadet uniform," Seneca said. "Are you sure about going unmasked?"

"In this costume? Yeah." She looked at Horizon. "We can talk later about tactical loadouts."

"I'm…" Seneca cleared his throat. "I'm not comfortable with this agreement, Horizon. She's sixteen. You're recruiting a child onto a combat team. You're making her a child soldier."

He cared. Taylor could sense that he wasn't trying to be difficult, he actually cared about her well being. "Dan, I _am_ a child soldier," she said. "It's not right, but nothing we're going up against is worse than Leviathan."

"Child soldiers die young," Dan said.

"I know. Think of it this way. The world's ending. The Endbringers are going to bring it all crashing down within my lifetime. At least this way, I'll be fighting to try and keep things going a little longer. So, are we good with my Ward costume?"

"I can get this approved," Courtmanche said with a nod.

Scowling, Seneca nodded too.

"Great. So, I heard someone mention an accelerated licensing course?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The accelerated licensing course was supposed to be a three-day, twenty-four hour concentrated learning course to give Wards a chance to get their licenses quickly. According to the information booklet, it was ideal for young Tinkers who built their own vehicles.

The course started with a pen and paper test, and then the rest of the day she and the instructor, Mina Pistenmaa, drove around the city.

It felt odd because Pistenmaa, for one, dressed in her casual clothes. She didn't even have a PRT badge, just dark slacks and a blue sweater. Two, Taylor just drove. Pistenmaa asked Taylor about her experiences driving, and about how her power affected her. She even got a demonstration when the Force warned Taylor of a semi blowing through a red light that would otherwise have hit them.

When they got back after almost four non-stop hours of driving, with only a break where she had Taylor go through a drive-through for lunch, they returned to the PRT field course where she then took another test on Motorcycles, and spend _another_ four hours riding a motorcycle.

As six rolled around, the instructor led Taylor back into the detached field-house behind the PRT headquarters building.

"Go stand in front of that white screen, please," Pistenmaa said.

Taylor did so. Minutes later, the older woman handed her a driver's license. "Congratulations, you drive better than most adults."

"But I thought there were a bunch of course ours and…"

"I'm not PRT, I'm with the state Department of Licensing. PRT put in a request for expedited licensing. You passed your written exams for a teen's license with a motorcycle endorsement. You'll have to reapply when you're eighteen, but for now you're legal."

Taylor beamed. "Thanks! Now I can go build my hoverbike!"

The woman looked startled, then laughed when she thought Taylor was joking.

The poor woman.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"So, when are you going to be released to do patrols?"

Romulus still sounded nervous when he spoke to her Tuesday after he finished school. Taylor was scheduled to start classes at Chief Sealth High School the next day.

Without his mask, Bill Steader looked like a typical teenaged boy—pimples and all. He obviously worked out and took his training regimen seriously, but even so he was still a scrawny-looking kid. The only reason he was the leader of the Wards team was because the elder Ward needed weed to activate her power. That was a PR nightmare the PRT tried to avoid as much as they could.

In fact, Alice was draped half-conscious over the couch buzzing so hard Taylor could feel the drug-induced euphoria like a cloud around the girl. The other two Wards, Strobelight and Ashwinder, were both on patrol in one of the nicer parts of the town, near the UW campus.

Insight handled the console duties, while also working on her own laptop for Horizon and the team they were still putting together.

Bill appeared torn between staring with ill-concealed interest at Sarah's chest as she leaned over and worked on the laptop, and Taylor's ass whenever she moved. Irritated, she'd done a little probing and discovered with a sense of shock that he wasn't even aware of what he was doing. There was a complete disconnect between his eyes and his thoughts. He felt eager to be friendly and make a good impression on his teammates.

And he wanted to look at girls. Pretty girls were better, but any girls were enough to make him look. The two imperatives worked on completely different tracks of the boy's brain. He wasn't even aware of his staring.

"We're scheduled for our introductory press conference next Monday, after Taylor gets out of school," Sarah said without looking up. "But we're not going to be patrolling with you guys. Sorry."

"But why not?" Bill whined. _Yes, he whined_. "Our biggest hitter is a druggie who's more interested in eating chips than fighting crime! I'm a freakin' werewolf, not even a Brute 3. We need someone who can make a difference and not burn the city down in the process."

Taylor read about Ashwinder's first night patrolling. A gas station and four cars were forever obliterated in her quest to catch a drug-addled purse-snatcher.

"You know you've totally had sex with Alice," Sarah said with one of her meaner grins, not just derailing his thoughts, but nuking them from orbit.

Bill's face turned so incandescent three of his pimples began to look like sunspots. "What… but…how…it's…"

"Sarah, leave him alone," Taylor said. "He's not staring to be a perv. You're pretty, he wasn't even aware he was staring at your chest."

"Sure thing, boss."

Now he blanched the color of bone. "I wasn't…I…"

From the couch, without sitting up to look, Alice sang out, "You totally were, you little perv."

"You shut up. How do you even know?"

Alice had already gone back to sleep before she could answer.

Taylor sighed. "Bill, it's okay. I'm telepathic and Sarah might as well be, we get it. We've been tapped for a different team. I'll be public here, and who knows, maybe I will go on a patrol or two. But mainly I'm going to be working with Horizon on a different project. We're just kind of in limbo until everything's official."

"And…you have a healing appointment," Sarah added. "Mr. Wallace just showed up, he's going to the infirmary wing now. You ready?"

Taylor nodded, then smiled at the disappointed and flummoxed Bill. "And Bill? She's a little messed up, but I think Alice does like you. Just treat her right, okay?"

He was flushing again as Taylor walked out. Her costume wasn't finished yet, so she just wore jeans and a T-shirt with her ID badge. It felt odd to be able to walk around the secure PRT building without restraints. She sensed people watching her—agents and civilian employees alike. She knew they didn't trust her quiet yet, but that didn't matter. She didn't plan to work out of this building any more than necessary.

It did not surprise her one bit when Dr. White met her at the door to the infirmary.

"Let me get a look at you," the shorter, stouter woman said. "You look well. Getting enough to eat?"

"Yes, _mom_. I'm fine. What room is he in?"

"Four-B. I've heard about the man—from his medical file he should still be in traction."

"He's motivated."

"He's insane," White corrected. "I take that back. He's a high-functioning autistitc."

She led Taylor into the examination room. Colin Wallace stood stiffly inside the room—there was a chair, but she knew it would have hurt him both to sit, and then stand again.

He nodded to her. "Quintessence. Thank you for agreeing to this."

"Strip," she said by way of answer. "Down to your skivvies, please."

He didn't even blink an eye as he started to disrobe. He was even skinnier without his shirt and slacks, with bony, hairy legs and protruding ribs. Dr. White clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Let's do your kidneys and back first," Taylor said. "Lay down on your stomach, please."

It's been a while since she'd healed, but the Force still flowed as strong as ever when she sent healing energy into his abused kidneys. She moved on to the various injuries in his spine. Then his knee.

By the time she finished, he laid on his back with his eyes closed. "You're healing is much more soothing that Panacea's," he noted.

"Oh?" That was Dr. White. "You've had healing from both?"

He sat up, much more at ease than before. "Yes. Panacea is a striker—a biokinetic. She shapes and molds flesh. While this makes her an incredible healer and capable of regenerating lost limbs, eyes or anything else, I have come to believe the healing is a side effect of her power. If she is unhappy with you, you can feel what she does to your body and it can be disconcerting. Quintessence's power feels much more soothing. The only analogy I can think of is a space heater in a cold room."

He stretched until his back popped. He met Taylor's eyes. "Thank you. Have you considered what we spoke of earlier?"

"Yes, and I'll do it. It'll take time, though. Are you going to be around?"

Wallace nodded. "I'll be in Vancouver. Dragon is helping me design a prosthetic arm. We'll be employing some of Overmind's technology to allow me to mentally move the limb."

Taylor snorted. "Really? A wi-fi controlled arm? Just implant a T-com nerve shunt on your shoulder, you could have full sensory and muscle control with a plasma fiber relay."

He stared at her. White stared at her.

"How much?" Armsmaster finally said.

Taylor sighed. "I'll just license the design through Dragon. I've got too much else going on."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Late that afternoon, Taylor received a summons to meet with the actual PRT WNW director for the first time.

"Good luck," Sarah said. She made it sound ominous, for some reason.

The director's office was at the top of the six floor PRT building. Taylor took the elevator with her badge and hand-print. The elevator let her out into a little lobby area with a surprising amount of sunlight. Two armed PRT agents in casual uniforms looked up when she stepped out.

"Quintessence," one said. "Director is ready. To your right, door will open when you reach it."

The door to her right opened to reveal a virtual ocean of cubicles, not reaching her shoulders. She felt conscious when dozens of eyes followed her hesitant steps into what looked like the administrative heart of the agency.

Something stepped into her immediate Force presence; something that hurt. It felt like a walking, talking tear in the fabric of the Force itself. Wincing, she turned to see Gasconade emerge from around the corner of the interior wall that separated the lobby and elevators from the work floor.

"Come on," he said in a bored tone.

Taylor followed the Protectorate leader through the floor to the far wall, where a line of offices ended the sea of cubicles. It surprised her, when she reached the office, how small it was. For some reason, she was expecting a huge office with expansive views.

The office was large enough for a sizable U-shaped desk, several full bookshelves, two lateral filing cabinets, and a small circular table with four chairs around it. Two more chairs faced the desk.

Director Katherine Foote was not a small woman, by any measure. She looked to be 5'10 and two hundred and fifty pounds. She wore her white hair in a massive beehive that was five decades out of style, with large, gaudy costume jewelry on her wrists. She wore the heavy-handed lipstick, base and blush Taylor had seen with other older women.

Her Force presence, though, felt like that of a soldier.

"Have a seat, Miss Hebert," the director said, motioning to one of the two chairs in front of her desk.

Gasconade closed the door and then drifted to one of the two windows in the office. Taylor was intensely aware of his presence but fought not to pay attention to it.

"Well, let's have a look at you, then," the director said, as if talking to a particularly recalcitrant grandchild. She slipped on a thick pair of glasses and then stared at Taylor for the longest time.

"Not much to look at, are you?"

"I'm probably not going to win any beauty contests," Taylor said carefully.

The director waived the statement away. "Teenaged girls, always thinking they're ugly. Sweetie, you look just as pretty as the next girl. I'm talking about as a cape. Eidolon and Alexandria strike fear into their opponents. Legend makes people want to do better."

"And Narwhal just distracts them with her boobs?"

Rather than be offended, the director chuckled. "It works. Believe me, that woman has turned her breasts into a merchandising empire. No, you're just little old Taylor Hebert, the girl who blasted Leviathan off his feet." She clasped her hands on her desk and leaned over. "Do you have any idea how rare it is to be tried and convicted in one state, but to serve your sentence in another?"

"I…no."

Foote nodded. "Of course not. You don't have enough education to know. One of the principles of law is that you serve your punishment in or near the jurisdiction where you committed the crime. Criminals in Texas are not shipped to prisons in Wyoming unless they also committed a crime in Wyoming. So why did you, a girl convicted of manslaughter in New Hampshire, serve your time in Seattle?"

"I know why I wanted to," Taylor admitted. "But I don't know why they agreed."

"You didn't use your power to read their thoughts?"

Taylor felt a smidgeon of hostility from the director. "I work hard to keep my mind closed, Director. I only open it when I think I'm in danger."

"I see." The woman pulled out a thick manila folder and opened it. "You were remanded to custody here for two reasons. One, Watchdog and Washington wanted to do everything they could to ensure your successful transition to the Wards, and everyone agreed that such would not occur if you were anywhere near Brockton Bay."

"And the second?"

"So that you were close enough that Alexandria could kill you if you decided to go villain," Foote said. She didn't even blink as she said it. "It's a common tactic for the more powerful but problematic capes. Legend might have been a better counter, but he refuses to kill anyone. Alexandria doesn't have that compunction."

She'd said it to elicit a response. Taylor chose not to give it to her. "It makes sense. I'm not Manton-limited, so they'd want to have a big-gun available."

"You don't care?"

"I didn't say that, Director. Just that it makes sense."

"Could you kill her?"

Taylor remembered their brief spar before the Overmind campaign. "Perhaps, but I doubt I'd survive the fight myself. And I don't doubt Eidolon could finish me off if I did."

"What about our capes? Do you think you could kill Gasconade there?"

Taylor shuddered and remembered how both Seneca and Sarah agreed there would be a bad power interaction. She understood what they meant, now. "He's already dead. His breaker state froze him at the time of his death. What you see and speak to is an echo of the man he used to be. I couldn't kill him; I'd just have to remove him from the fight."

"But you could?"

Taylor fought back a sigh. "Director, I could probably take your whole department if I had to. But doing so would just force Alexandria or Eidolon to respond. I know that. I never _wanted_ to be a villain. I didn't _choose_ to be a villain. If I had a chance to go back in time, I would not have killed Miss Militia or those girls in Winslow. If I haven't paid my penance for them yet, it's because the Simurgh hasn't attacked since then. I want to help people. And ma'am, with respect, I think I've proven that."

"Perhaps you have," Foote allowed. "I suppose we'll find out."

She pulled something out of the folder—a slick black pocket folder—and slid it toward Taylor. She opened it up and stared at the embossed seal at the top.

"That's your court order declaring you an emancipated adult. Now that the order has been issued, we can go ahead and finish the normal paperwork. On the left side of the folder are forms to set up your direct deposit for your salary, and your insurance enrollment forms. As a federal employee, you're eligible for paid health insurance, leave and…"

She'd slipped from soldier to bureaucrat so seamlessly Taylor hadn't even noticed.

Half an hour later, Taylor walked back down to the Wards room. Sarah stood just inside the door, smiling.

"So?"

"So, I have a bank account with money in it," Taylor said. She checked the receipt. "From Dad's life insurance, and a legal settlement against Winslow that I didn't know about."

"Yeah, the Youth Guard did that on your behalf," Sarah said. "Jansen sued the school and they settled so that you'd have funds for a legal defense if you decided to go with different attorneys in the future."

Taylor nodded numbly. "The PRT impounded my bike after I got captured. Sold it at auction. So…I'm sensing a motorcycle in my future."

"Oh, are you?" Sarah grinned.

"Well, I _am _a pre-cog, you know."


	39. Another Brick in the Wall

A/N: Chap 38 review responses are in my forums. And since at least one reviewer didn't see the note, as a reminder I'll be posting both Saturday mornings and Tuesday evenings until Quintessence is done. My little contribution to those stuck in quarantine. Which means if you didn't see anything Tuesday, you may have two chapters to read instead of one.

As a note for the remainder of the story-We will be getting some more fights and action, but I'll also admit I was a little self-indulgent. I have several chapters of Taylor "adulting" and learning to fit back into the world. They don't radically advance the plot, and if I were a professional and seeking paid publication, I might even cut the chapters. But this is fanfiction, and it's the daily life aspects of a cape that I enjoyed exploring the most.

So, welcome back to school, Quintessence.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Another Brick in the Wall**

Taylor parked her brand-new Harley Davidson Street Glide motorcycle in the student lot next to the high school's football stadium. The bike had a 96-inch motor with a six-speed transmission and made a satisfying purr when she brought it to one of the available parking spots in the student lot. It wasn't a hoverbike (not yet), but for now it would get her where she wanted to go.

She stored her helmet and riding leathers in one of the bike's two lockable storage compartments before settling back and studying her environment. It was Wednesday, September 28th, and today was Taylor's first day of school in Seattle.

Across the street, busses filled the drop off drive at the front of the school, while crowds of children from the edge of the exclusion zone all the way down to Roxbury Heights made their way into the building.

In a fast-contracting economy, the city school district couldn't afford to maintain so many schools. What resulted was a single mega-high school with two thousand more students than it was ever built to handle, and an equally overcrowded middle school beside it.

From the outside, though, it looked just like any school. That is, until she saw the first news van pull up. More came, a van from the four major broadcast networks plus a couple of cable networks. Of course the reporters would want to cover the story of the Winslow Simurgh returning to school.

Taylor pulled her hair back with a clip and slipped on her red-tinted sunglasses. She fell in with another group of students, her mostly empty back-pack thrown over one shoulder, and projected a sense of normality in the Force.

She was just another student.

Reporters were gathered on the street across from the school front, careful not to set foot on the school at all. Some were already posing questions to a few of the students. None looked up as Taylor walked right on by.

Occasionally she got a glance from some of the other students. She'd dressed as non-descript as she could—jeans and a loose turquoise blouse with the sleeves pulled up over her elbows. They looked away, though, when her suggestion in the Force convinced them she was just another student.

She did experience a moment of _déjà vu_ when she reached the doors. Just inside, four armed police officers were guiding lines of students through four separate sets of tinker-tech metal and explosives detectors. Granted, Winslow High couldn't afford Tinker-Tech devices to scan for explosives as well as just metal, but Dragon was just a few hours away from Seattle.

The noise struck Taylor like a brick. The smells assaulted her nose and she felt a headache coming on as she had to shield against the assault of thoughts and feelings. She'd never been around so many people since she triggered, and the mental pressure felt like a concrete slab on her head.

Cops and teachers were shouting directions and instructions at students, while the students talked loudly among themselves. Being crushed in with other teens was not pleasant. Her senses reached out instinctively for any threats, but all she sensed were nervous, excited or bored kids making their way through security.

"Sunglasses off!"

She turned and saw one of the cops looking at her. It was a brief glance only.

"Remove any head gear. Everyone must be able to see your face at all times. Sunglasses off. Remove…" He'd singled her out because of her glasses, but his message was a rote script he wasn't even really thinking about.

Rather than remove the glasses, she made a show of adjusting them before continuing on her way. She got through the screening, but realized with a start that she didn't know where to go.

She fixated on one of the teachers directing the huge press of student traffic and let her suggestion drop. In such a huge stream of bodies, even the extraordinary could be lost. And it wasn't like she was wearing a costume. She made her way through the traffic until she reached the woman.

"Excuse me, I'm a new student. I'm not sure where to go."

"When did you register?" the teacher said. "And please remove the sunglasses."

Figuring the damage was done, Taylor slipped her sunglasses off so the woman could see her pure black eyes. "The PRT registered me for classes last Friday."

The woman burned with a surge of almost abject terror, followed very quickly by anger. This woman wanted nothing to do with Taylor, and was outraged that she was even in the school.

"Ma'am," Taylor said, dropping her voice just above the background noise in the hall. "I'm just a student. Can you please tell me where to go?"

The teacher got control of herself, though she did a poor hiding her distaste. "New students have to check in at the front office. Behind you, second door on your right."

"Thank you."

Despite the teacher's request, Taylor slipped her sunglasses back on and went against the flow of bodies until she reached the indicated door.

Within the front office she stepped into another boiling space filled with loud voices with parents trying to either register their kids late or take them out or other functions. She heard mostly Spanish and a smattering of Japanese. The three ladies manning the front desk looked frazzled. All of them spoke Spanish; none of them spoke Japanese.

Across the narrow space between the doors and the administrative desks she saw students without parents clutching slips of paper like her own. She edged her way past the crowd of anxious parents and joined the other students.

"What's with the specs, skinny bitch?" The boy spoke Spanish, obviously not expecting her to answer.

"They're so I don't melt your tiny little brain with my laser eyes," she responded in kind.

The boy stared a moment before snickering. "Right."

When her turn came, she told the aide. "I'm a new student. I'm not sure what to do."

"Name?"

"Taylor Hebert."

The girl looked up at Taylor, squeaked, and fell out of her chair.

Taylor stared flatly. "Really?"

"I'm…sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't…."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "What, melt your brain?"

"Miss Caperton, that'll be enough."

A woman in a slimming pair of cream slacks and a navy-blue blouse stepped from the maze of offices. She wore a simple set of pearls and appeared to be in her forties, with feathered almond-colored hair and a narrow, pointed nose.

"Miss Hebert, I'm Doctor Ferris, the Principal of Chief Sealth. If you come with me, we'll get you all sorted."

Aware of the spreading silence behind her, Taylor nodded and followed the principal through the door next to the window of counselors and counselor aids, and into the maze of offices and cubes. After a short walk, they reached a surprisingly small office dominated by bookshelves, a large wooden desk and four comfortable padded chairs that left little walking room.

"Please have a seat."

Taylor did so.

Ferris stepped around her desk, smoothed her slacks and sat down. Her back was straight and she held her hands lightly clasped together on the clear spot of her desk near the slim computer monitor that took up a corner of the space.

"Our assistant superintendent sent what he could, but there are still some holes in your paperwork and placement. And just to let you know, Miss Hebert, district policy forbids the use of sunshades in school."

Taylor removed the lenses and stared at the older woman. "I'm not wearing them to look cool. I'm wearing them to try to limit the disruption and discomfort my eyes cause other students."

Rather than react like Winslow's principal might, Dr. Ferris merely nodded and gave it some thought.

"I understand. In fact, on some level I can even agree with your reasoning." She leaned forward, meeting Taylor's gaze unflinchingly. "But let me suggest an alternative thought. If I give you permission to wear sunglasses, you'll then stand out for having received special treatment. Especially when other students try to do the same but are stopped. This puts us both at a disadvantage, wouldn't you say?"

Having an authority figure actually explain their reasoning was a new and unusual experience for Taylor. She took a moment to consider before responding.

"The difference being you can't hear them thinking about how unfair you are, while I have to listen and sense them think about what a freak I am. I'd say I stand at a far greater disadvantage than you. And before you voice your next thought, just think about how little Miss Caperton responded to me. Or consider the utter hate and fear I felt from Mrs. Shondell in the hallway when I asked where to go. I assure you, that's not unique."

Ferris opened her mouth, but then closed it. She then completely surprised Taylor by nodding. "Okay, I can see that. I'll allow it, then, and when questioned we'll simply say they're prescription."

The acquiescence was so utterly alien to Taylor's past experiences in school that for a moment she could only stare in surprise. Rather than make an issue of it, the principal started typing on her computer, looking at her flat-screen monitor.

"I've been told that your transcript from New Hampshire is not a dependable record of your academic achievement. Instead, we looked at your time spent at the Youth Center. And your test results there were simply breathtaking. If not for the political circumstances of your case, I'd say you should have tested out if high school and begun college courses. Unfortunately, we both know that won't work."

The woman had very good posture as she turned to look back at her, Taylor noted. She stared intently again, and behind her eyes Taylor could sense a sharp, piecing intellect and genuine compassion.

"Miss Hebert, I know that this past year has been difficult for you. I can't pretend to know how you feel or understand what you've been through, but I suspect if left to your own devices you'd rather not be here. Moving past that, can you tell me what you want out of your education here?"

Taylor knew, without having to use the Force, that everything she told this woman would make its way to Dan Seneca or Director Foote. A part of her was so tempted to point out that the odds of her even surviving high school weren't high, since she was pre-committed to Endbringer fights. But if she did, that would trigger extra counseling session that Taylor had no interest in.

So, summoning up her best smile, she lied her ass off. "Mainly I'm interested in getting my degree so I can move on to more challenging collegiate STEM subjects."

Ferris was good, but she wasn't parahuman. She accepted the answer at face value. "With your test results I think that's an excellent plan. How are you on foreign languages?"

"I'm a telepath. I learn a language after a few conversations. So far I'm fluent in Spanish and Japanese with a fair smattering of Russian."

Ferris winced; once again Taylor had to give her credit for recognizing why Taylor Hebert would know a little Russian.

"Okay, that gives us some options as well. You can test out of that. You've already passed out of every STEM class we have, according to your AP scores from detention. What you're lacking are the other requirements. History, government, language arts. So, let's get you sorted for that. We do have you in the PRT-sponsored vocational program, so you'll be out before one each day."

She continued typing. "You've earned all three of your math and science credits. I think we can grant your physical fitness credits. Your vocational program will cover the CTE credits, so that's another one point five credits. Your computer credits from our previous school will give you another one point five. With your previous transcripts…we have you at 15 credits."

"What does that mean?"

"You need a minimum of twenty credits to graduate. I think…we can classify you as a junior. Three courses this year, and two next year, and I can have you graduated on time while still meeting the PRT vocational requirements."

That was far, far better news than Taylor would have believed. "What classes?"

"AP Word Affairs, AP Washington State History and Government, two AP English or Language Arts classes, and an elective." She pressed her mouse, and a split second later her printer spit something out which she handed over.

Taylor settled on a business accounting class to fill her days up. The principal's willingness to work with her was something Taylor found impressive.

"Okay, let's set it up. Your first class will be Mrs. Merrill in ELA."

By the time she left the principal's office, all the kids were in their first classes. Taylor followed the instructions to get her assigned books and find her locker. She was pleased to see that it would not be possible for anyone to fit in the half-locker.

What that all boiled down to, though, was that she was going to be entering her first class late.

She paused outside the second-floor door of the class. The halls were empty, the students all in their various rooms.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself.

Centering her mind in the Force, Taylor knocked on the door. When she heard the teacher call out, she stepped inside. The room held thirty students, she saw at a glance. They were packed into a space equipped for perhaps half that number.

"Mrs. Merrill?" Taylor asked, trying to sound confident. "I'm a new student."

She handed the slip to the teacher, who read the name with a resigned sigh before looking up and giving Taylor a frank smile.

"There's no point in hiding, Miss Hebert. Please introduce yourself to the class, then take a seat."

The teacher was right, of course. Already several of the kids already suspected just from the rumor mill and the reporters out front. She removed her sunglasses and let them all see her eyes.

"My name is Taylor Hebert. I'm your newest Ward. I am telepathic, and sometimes I can't always block out thoughts. So please keep your weird late-night fantasies to yourselves. The principal has agreed to let me keep the sunglasses on for now. Thank you."

With that, she walked to the only empty seat, which of course happened to be at the very front of the room.

"So, we were just talking about Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men…."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Bulldozers and a large boring machine were working in the mudflats a few blocks north of the house when Taylor got back. She left the paved road itself and rode carefully over the destroyed remnants of North Admiral. She recognized several of the men from the work on her own home.

She was also surprised to see Charles Scapetti standing next to Jorge Lopez, both of them holding what looked like a page of blue prints. She studied some of the men and saw that a small handful of the workers wore black slacks and grey button-up shirts, just like Scapetti did.

"Heya, stringbean," the elder agent said as Taylor dismounted her bike.

"_Hola, Quintessencia_," Maria's dad said with a smile.

"Your man here is good," Scapetti said. "I put in a word with the city for him. More important, he has a frickin' army of workers."

"Can I see?"

Jorge handed over the blue-prints. She saw the first dimensions and compared it to the knowledge in her head, then grinned.

"Extend the garage out another twenty meters and reinforce up to twent tones max load. We're going to have VTOL craft."

Scapetti raised a brow. "Says who?"

"Says me and Dragon," Taylor said. "The team's going to grow, Scapetti. The way Horizon explained it, we're going to be a complete PRT headquarters. So let's plan to build for the future. We have ten million in Fortress Construction dollars dedicated for the building, and we have an expert at making money stretch. Plan for a complete self-enclosed, gravity-fed water system using my vaporators, one of my molecular furnaces for all the energy we could want, and an automated, Tinker-based defense system with shields and chemical blaster-based weaponry."

Scapetti scoffed. "You think Costa-Brown's gonna go for that?"

"As long as the PRT's not paying for it but it's used to protect PRT agents?" Taylor grinned. "Anyway, got homework to do. It was a school day, you know. I'm just glad they postponed my press date."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"You know, using your stranger power to get out of interviews is bullshit," Sarah said from her office when Taylor got home.

"Being allowed to get a GED even though you're only a few months older than me is worse," Taylor countered.

"Yeah. I am pretty awesome. So! Horizon is coming over with Scapetti to vet possible team members. They're bringing food!"

Taylor was expecting pizza boxes or Chinese take-out. She wasn't expecting Maria Whitworth in full mom-mode to show up in her civvies carrying a massive glass baking dish filled with King Ranch Chicken casserole. Scapetti came behind carrying a large, garishly orange bowl of salad and a little bag of various dressings, and a third newcomer followed behind with a large pan of what looked and smelled like peach cobbler, with ice-cream in a bag in one hand and a large leather satchel in the other.

"Oh, dibs on the ice cream!" Sarah called.

"Not until after dinner," Maria said. "Show me the kitchen, girls, this is hot."

Taylor solved the problem by levitating it from her hand and leading the way.

"Oh, you have a lovely home," the newcomer said as she looked around-wide eyed. "It's so big!"

Scapetti started to chuckle. _That's what she said,_ rang in his mind.

Taylor chose not to respond. They set up at the dining room table, where Sarah had already pulled out their plates.

"So, introductions," Maria said. "Taylor, Sarah, this is Amanda Calhoun. I want you to know that Director Antony in San Diego is _still_ screaming at me for stealing her. I mean, seriously. Three voice mails just today. Amanda, this is Quintessence and Insight, or Taylor and Sarah in present company."

"Hello," Amanda said with a pleasant smile. She was a slightly plump woman with honey-blonde hair, thick lipstick and rose-colored frames on her large glasses. She even had the strap on them so they could hang from her neck.

"Amanda here is going to be our administrative support," Maria crowed. "Her official title is Protectorate Support Technician III. Every Protectorate team has an Amanda. Some are better than others. But few are as good as Amanda."

"Oh shush, you're making me blush," Amanda said. And she was, indeed, blushing. "Oh, that smells lovely! Let's eat!"

The five of them settled around the table, drinking tea and eating a casserole Taylor had to admit was as good as anything she, or her mom, could have cooked. She only saved room because the smell of the cobbler permeated the whole kitchen.

When dinner and dessert were consumed, Amanda pulled up her leather satchel and removed an intimidating stack of manila folders. Taylor was beginning to think the PRT ran on Manila folders.

"So, here comes the fun part!" Maria said.

Before any of them could say anything else, Sarah reached to the stack and started pulling folders out.

"Mujaji—Alexandria-package with a powerful blaster power with her electricity," Sarah said.

"Oh, I met her before Leviathan!" Taylor said. "I really liked her."

"She's a Ward," Horizon said.

"Just turned eighteen," Sarah said. "Like yesterday, right, Amanda?"

"That's why she's in the stack," the support tech said with almost inhuman enthusiasm.

Sarah reached again, like a Blackjack dealer fixing the deck.

"Vestibule," she said, grinning. "Mover 5. Creates portals, but only line of sight. That said, no limits to the number of people who go through them."

"Um, his file does have him flagged for behavioral issues," Amanda said. "He was put on probation twice for fights with his teammates in Los Angeles."

"Yeah, won't be an issue with us," Sarah said.

"And why is that?" Maria demanded.

"We're girls. He hates other men." Her grin sobered a little. "His trigger event was actually worse than yours, Taylor. Only, you got the power to fuck the world up. He got the power to run away from it. He's nineteen, and I think he'll do better with us."

"Well, my goodness, you're doing all my work!" Amanda said. Somehow, she sounded both put-out and encouraging.

"Sorry." Sarah lied, and made no effort in making the lie believable. "Anyway, he'll be perfect for group infiltration."

Maria nodded. "So, we have an Alexandria package, a Thinker/Striker with me, a…whatever the hell you are, Taylor, another thinker, a mover. What are we missing?"

"Two more," Lisa said. "First, considering what this team is for, is the kill shot." She once more pulled out one of Emily's folders. "Flechette, out of New York. She's a Ward under Legend, but she's turning 18 in two months and word on the webs is that she's unhappy."

"Why?" Taylor asked.

"She was at the Leviathan fight. Some of the other capes there saw she seemed to connect really well with Parian."

Taylor nodded. "And."

"She stayed on during that whole Echidna mess that happened about a month after you went into the clink. She took Echidna out—her power allows her to imbue a projectile with energy that makes it unstoppable. But only after Parian died. She then got into a fight with a villain who group-triggered with her, March. Killed her too. Since then she's had four reports and lost her license due to DWI. She needs stability, and maybe a little healing."

Horizon was looking through the various files. "And your last one?"

"The tank," Lisa said, grinning again. "Campanile. He _just_ graduated the Wards in Chicago. He's like Alice without the drugs, and with a gravity-changing aura that lets him move like he was Jackie Chan, even when he's the size of Behemoth. He's a powerful brute when in his breaker state. But more importantly, look at his psych readings."

She pulled the man's file from Amanda's stack without looking. "Laid back, gets along well with his team. Despite being eight feet tall he's non-threatening. And I think he'd get along just fine with Vestibule."

"You know this would be a voluntary transfer," Maria said. "Not all of them are going to agree to this."

"Oh, sure they will," Sarah said. "This team is going to be self-funded, it's part of our agreement with Alexandria. We're Protectorate and PRT in name only. That medical schematic Taylor licensed to Dragon? That's going to revolutionize prosthetics and make her a fortune. That money I got from Coil? I'm posting 19% returns on average. We're going to pay our people very well, Maria. More importantly, we're not going to just be wandering around looking good. We're going to be _fixing _things. Believe me, they're going to want to join."

"So, who would we ask first?" Taylor asked.

"The surest bet," Sarah said. "Mujaji."


	40. The Play's The Thing

A/N: It's Tuesday. Welcome to your special Coronavirus-edition of Quintessence. As a reminder, i'll be posting twice weakly in honor of all those readers stuck at home until the story is done. Meanwhile, review responses are in my forums as normal.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Forty: The Play's the Thing**

Taylor meditated in the small anteroom just outside the press room of the PRT Headquarters building. She wore her new Wards costume.

Courtmanche did a good job, she thought. The boots were a brown leather that were based on the standard-issue PRT boots but softened because of the color and texture of the material. The tan-colored slacks hung loose from her waist with plenty of hidden pockets. Like the tunic, the slacks were made from a dense tinker-tech material that made them tear and even stab proof. They didn't provide much ballistic protection without plate armor, but Taylor didn't plan on much combat in the costume.

A little half-skirt hung from her narrow waist, open at the front and just long enough to cover her rear. Its interior pockets held the various wrist-ties, her phone, and other equipment.

Her tunic fit snugly—a little too tight for her modesty but not too tight to restrict movement. Courtmanche informed her that her focus group scores went up when they could positively identify her as female.

"Really?" she'd asked in a flat tone. "The hair doesn't give it away?"

Courtmanche shrugged with an apologetic smile. "Taylor, your power and your history are frightening. Softening your appearance to emphasize the fact that you're a lovely young woman can only help. As you pointed out, this is your PR costume."

So, her tunic was tight. The brown half-jacket that matched her boots at least gave her the illusion of modesty.

Beside her, Sarah sat in a metal chair and thumbed rapidly through her phone. Her costume took the idea of modesty and crumpled it up into a ball before stomping on it and then lighting it on fire with napalm. Her costume was almost skin-tight, made of the same fabric as Taylor's. That meant that it could look like poured-on latex while still allowing free movement.

And it clung. God, did it cling. If not for the gauzy waist cape of dark violet, her costume would be indecent in the bottom half. The tight pants were a pale lavender color with the darker violet highlights that seemed to highlight the shape of her legs. It gave the illusion of her legs being longer than they actually were.

Her top was just as tight, hugging her flat stomach and chest. She had her hair pulled back in a bun and wore a dark violet mask that was shaped just so to hide all of her freckles and even change the shape of her face. An Egyptian _Eye of Ra_ held a place of honor over her chest.

"Yes, I look awesome," Sarah said without looking up from her phone. "And no, your tunic is not too revealing." She finally looked up and gave Taylor a smile. "You look pretty good."

"You're just saying that because you look better."

Sarah shrugged. "Yes, I'm a hot asexual. I have all the biological signaling I need to snag a man I can't and don't want to do anything with. You're going to do fine, and you know it."

The door opened and Ms. Courtmanche stepped in, looking prim and professional in her pin-striped dark skirt, jacket and white blouse. She made hose and heels look comfortable, somehow.

"Are you two ready?"

Sarah slipped her phone into the pocket of her own half-skirt. "You bet!"

The two followed her into the news conference room.

The room stood just off the public lobby, near the gift shop, with a dedicated exterior entrance that allowed journalists to go straight in after a single security check. It was large enough to comfortably seat twenty journalists.

All the seats were taken and a standing crowd filled the back as Taylor and Sarah stepped out onto the slightly elevated stage. Dan Seneca was already on stage, along with Romulus, Ashwinder and Strobelight, the pure-white teleporting breaker 4.

Alice was noticeably absent. This was due to design.

"The girl's a PR nightmare," Sarah said when Taylor questioned the proposed lineup. "The camera can see her blood-shot eyes from a mile away."

There was no applause when they entered, but what seemed like a million cameras started flashing. Taylor felt intimately aware of the various news cameras that tracked her every step.

"We're pleased to introduce our two newest wards, Insight and Quintessence," Dan said smoothly as he motioned for them. "Insight, why don't you come tell us a little about yourself?"

Sarah stepped smoothly to the Podium.

"Thank you, Dan," she said with a gracious smile.

The cameras were pulled away from Taylor solely because of how ridiculously photogenic Sarah was in her costume. That was the plan, after all. Nothing was so easily manipulated as mass media.

"As the Assistant Director said, my name is Insight. I transferred to Seattle from an internship with Watchdog. I'm a Thinker, so you may not see me running around catching villains. But you might hear about me shutting down cyberthreats and solving conspiracies. I'm thrilled to be here."

The timing was rehearsed—the reporters seemed trained not to ask questions until prompted. None spoke as she stepped back with a disarmingly sweet smile that Taylor knew hid a mind like a knife.

"Quintessence?" Dan asked.

_Balance._

Taylor stepped to the podium and took a deep breath.

"As you can see, I don't have a mask. Most of you already know who I am, and I decided for the sake of those I've harmed in the past not to hide behind a new secret identity. My cape name is Quintessence, but you also know me as Taylor Hebert. I am a telekinetic, telepath and trump. And I'm able to stand here before you today because Chief Director Costa-Brown and Alexandria decided to take a gamble and let me try to use my power to do good. And I'm here in Seattle because, for a few months, I made a home here and appreciated this city.

"I can't undo the harm I've done, but I can and will strive to make the world a better place from now on. Thank you."

She stepped back while Dan retook the podium. "Thank you, Insight and Quintessence."

The man was a practiced public speaker, Taylor noted.

"Now, you've been patient with us, and I also wish to thank all of you for complying with the moratorium on seeking Quintessence out. I'm aware that her place of residence is essentially public record, but Insight confirmed that you've all complied with our requests. Thank you for that. Since you've been patient and respected their privacy, Insight and Quintessence have agreed to answer a few questions. Ladies?"

This, too, was choreographed. Dan stepped back to a spot marked with a little touch of tape, close enough that the microphone could pick him up but far enough for Taylor and Sarah to stand side-by side at the podium.

The moment Taylor dreaded finally arrived.

However, the room didn't erupt in a cacophony of shouted questions. Ms. Courtmanche had her reporters too well-trained. Instead, they all raised their hands. It was Courtmanche who selected the reporter to go first, having first-hand knowledge of every one of them.

"Susan Day, KOMO news. Quintessence, before your capture it was well known that you ran a clinic for parahuman healing. Do you have plans to start that again?"

It was a soft question. Which was why Courtmanche picked that particular reporter first.

"As part of my Wards contract, any healing I do has to be through PRT channels," Taylor said. "Healing was never my primary power, just something I chose to sell as a service to survive instead of turning to crime. I believe that Dr. White with the PRT is coordinating something through the University to make me available for emergencies. But no, I won't be reopening my clinic like before."

Next came the hard question. "Bill Baker, KIRO news. Quintessence, can you give us a little more information about what actually happened during the Seattle West massacre?"

Like the first question, Taylor knew this one had been vetted. Only, the vetting process went all the way up to Director Foote. They allowed it because, as both Dan and Courtmanche said: "You need to own it and make people realize that what you did was heroic. They've seen the blood and bodies, but they need to know why."

Courtmanche encouraged her to act upset and off-guard. Play acting was a part of the PR process, evidently. Taylor didn't need to pretend, though.

"Last January, I woke up from a nightmare that I was stuck in a locker filled with biological waste to find myself on a transport heading to the Birdcage. I escaped, yes, but I was alone. I just found out my dad was dead, and it seemed like the whole world wanted me dead for something I only vaguely remembered.

"During my run, I was badly hurt by some heroes trying to catch me. I got away and found myself in a town near Seattle. I went in to a truck stop to try and wash some of the blood off from my fights, and maybe treat my wounds. When I came out, the Russian Bravta cape Virago teleported in and knocked me unconscious."

Her voice shook. "I woke up naked in a cell with a teen-aged girl who'd already been abused. There were another hundred teens on the boat. The Russians planned to sell us to the Chinese as sex slaves. I realized that I couldn't safely evacuate the children in the boat while there were heavily armed soldiers and capes ready to kill them. So, I did what I had to do to save as many innocent lives as I could."

The reporters ate it up.

The rest of the questions were easier, asking about school and odd things about her color preferences and who her favorite capes were ("Being one kind of ruined that for me, sorry," she answered).

Then the script went off a little.

"Nancy Southland, Atlanta News Network. In the past few months, your partner while you operated your clinic has had multiple run-ins with the law for possession and intoxicated driving. She's escaped custody on three separate occasions and in one case was cited for public indecency. Anonymous sources who have knowledge of the situation said that the two of you were involved in a sexual…"

"Nancy, you know perfectly well not to even think about the personal lives of Wards!" Courtmanche snapped.

Nancy not only appeared recalcitrant, she even stood up as if gearing for a fight. "She maybe a Ward now, but she was villain then! The city deserves to know if it's latest Ward is actually going to obey the law, or throw it out the window whenever her girlfriend gets in trouble again!"

"That girlfriend was a victim of the Bravta," Taylor said.

Something about the room went oddly quiet. Even Southland went still. Taylor realized she was broadcasting in the Force, but she didn't care.

"That girlfriend has been abused most of her life," Taylor continued. "She wasn't kidnapped by the Russians, she was _sold_ to them. Sixteen, Ms. Southland. She watched her best friend gunned down in front of her. She's seen more horrors, and had more horrors enacted upon her, than you could even imagine. I owe her my life. Wherever she is, whomever she's with, I hope and pray she gets the help she needs. And I hope that ignorant, self-righteous reporters know better than to ever bother her."

"And I think we're done for the day," Courtmanche said in a scathing, deriding tone. "Bonehead question of the day goes to Nancy. We'll collect your credentials as you leave, Nancy. That's your third strike. Don't bother coming back."

Taylor didn't bother looking at the report's expression; she could feel her anger and self-righteous indignation in the Force as she and Insight walked out.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

School was excruciating the next day. Southland's news clip only appeared on ANN because no other network was willing to air something so salacious about an underaged cape. But within minutes of the story appearing, PHO and the other forums went insane with speculation about Taylor's sexuality.

Which meant every kid in school thought Taylor Hebert was gay. While she received support from the LBGT community online, none of those people apparently went to Chief Sealth High School.

Fortunately, she only had morning classes and didn't have to sit through lunch. No one was stupid enough to say anything to her face (it was amazing what a flat stare from pure-black eyes could do to a person's confidence), but she could sense and hear people laughing at her behind her back.

The PRT might have put out an order for reporters not to go to her home, but that didn't stop them from hanging around the school. Her suggestion field was a lot harder when a line of reporters was looking for her on an empty side-walk between the school and the student parking lot.

She just went out the back way from the school, which added ten minutes to her walk but which avoided the spot most of the reporters had to congregate because of school rules and just the nature of the streets themselves. When she reached the PRT building for her shift, she expected things just to get worse.

Instead, she got Scapetti standing in the hall outside the door to the Wards room.

"Heya, Stringbean," he said with a wry grin. His scarred face glistened from a new treatment cream he'd been proscribed. "Get changed into your PT gear and meet me down on the course."

While Scapetti was not the SAC for the PRT WNW office, he was still a SAC. Which meant If anyone got in trouble for her not being in the Wards room, it would be him.

No one was in the room when she entered anyway, though. All the Wards had their own rooms, though only Alice lived there full time. Her parents couldn't quite handle her, being drugged out themselves most of the time.

She only kept costumes and PT clothes on hand, and changed quickly into her workout sweats. By the time she reached the workout course under a surprisingly clear, mid-October sky, she saw Scapetti standing next to Laura Davis, the sniper. There were others around them, all in PRT-branded sweats.

"There's the Stringbean now," Scappeti called. "Get over here and meet the team."

_Ah._ These were the PRT agents that would be the core of their special unit. She moved down the sidewalk to the edge of the obstacle and urban warfare course that took up a low of the PRT-owned land by Lake Union.

"Alright folks, you've seen her on the news. You've seen footage of her putting Leviathan on his tail. And you've seen the bodies of those Russian fucks. And at least two of you saw her lay down with Alexandria and walk away. I give you Quintessence."

Something about the playful quality of his tone prompted her to do a bad impression of a bow. "Thank you, thank you. Donations can be made out to the 'Make Taylor Less Awkward Fund'."

She felt heartened when a few of the people gathered actually laughed. Even better, they were laughing with her, not at her.

"So, you know Davis," Scapetti said.

He pointed to a short woman with surprisingly muscular arms, a square face and short, platinum blonde hair. "Jan Stanitz. Jan's our communications specialist. Served five years with LAPD before she jumped ship to the PRT."

"Nice to meet you," Taylor said, offering her hand.

The woman hesitated only a split second before grinning. "A polite cape, who'd a thunk it. Nice to meet you, Quintessence."

He pointed next to a tall, broad-shouldered man with rich brown skin. Taylor couldn't tell if he was Asian or Hispanic, but his presence in the Force spoke of a quiet, dependable strength.

"This here's Donahue McKenzie Tso. His mama was Navajo, his papa was a seven-foot tall Viking of a man. Donny here's our heavy weapons expert."

Taylor and the tall man shook hands.

Next came Mark Schertz, a former marine with Scapetti's unit, a red-headed man with Irish green eyes and a cocky smile named Rad Callister, and a shorter man with a scraggly mustache named Julio Marquez, a former Army Ranger.

The last three members of the team were LaMarcus Martin, Ken Hollis and James Daymore. Like the first agents she met, all of them appeared fit, young and competent.

"So, here's the deal," Scapetti said to Taylor. "Normal PRT protocol is for PRT to handle everything below a Class 5 threat. Once ratings get above 5, the Protectorate deals with the baddies, then PRT does clean up. Even Special Response units are not supposed to go up against anything Class 6 alone. Thing is, the capes usually don't work well with the PRT."

In her mind, Taylor could easily envision some of the more unique Bendu eschewing the Republic forces meant to support them.

"That's because most capes are warriors, not soldiers," she said.

She noticed a few of the agents staring at her a little.

Scapetti, though, just nodded. "That's right. You know why Horizon got tapped for this? 'Cause she's former JROTC. Triggered before she served, but she's always been willing to get into the trenches. Based on what you did in Portland, she's hoping you're the same. So, from now on, you're going to train with us."

Taylor looked from face to face. "Yeah, that's good. I don't mind easing up my workout for you guys."

"Oh, easing up, huh?" Rad Callister said with a scoff.

Taylor cocked her head to the side. "What, you think I'm joking?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

She made it home in time to cook a quick dinner. She'd received a text from Sarah that the other girl would make it home before 7. She quickly knocked out her homework while the curry cooked.

By the time Sarah pulled her car into the garage, Taylor had the rice steamed and the table set.

"Oh, that smells good!" Sarah announced as she walked. Her shoulders were slumped and there were rings under her eyes. Her headache throbbed in the Force.

"Sit," Taylor ordered.

Sarah did so, and then just sighed as Taylor placed her hand on her forehead and sent healing into the other girl's mind.

"Thank you," she breathed. "I abused my power like crazy today."

"Why?"

"Slaughterhouse Nine hit Brockton Bay," she said. "Isn't the first time, they hit it a few years ago when you were just a baby. We think they were after Dinah Alcott."

Taylor almost dropped her spoon as she was sitting. "Dinah? Why would the S9 be after her?"

"You mean aside from being one of the most powerful pre-cogs in the world?" Sarah shook her head sadly. "They got her parents, Taylor. Triumph was able to save her. His sonic blaster power was a little stronger than the PRT recorded—he knocked Crawler through a building before Glory Hole managed to get him and Dinah out of there."

None of this was on the news or PHO. "What happened next?"

"Dinah's a Person of Interest. Legend was there as soon as he found out, and Eidolon teleported in a few minutes later. The S9 backed off, but Alexandria's worried Dinah might be targeted by other villains." She started eating the curry.

"She's coming here, isn't she?"

Sarah didn't even bother trying to hide it. She just nodded. "Triumph too. Turns out they're related. Just as well. We lost Vestibule."

"What? Why?"

Sarah scowled. "Because he's a raging homophobe. Related to his trigger event. He saw something about you and Yuki and retracted his transfer request. Fucker, we really could have used his power, too."

With a bitter sigh, Taylor covered her face and fought back and urge to scream.

"Kids at school, huh?" Of course, Sarah could see the day Taylor was having. "Shit, I shouldn't be surprised. I'm sorry. Still, I saw a couple of our PRT agents in the cafeteria before I left. You made a really good impression with your training."

It didn't help, and both knew it.

"I'm going to go work in the lab," Taylor said as she left her half-eaten dinner on the table.

"Go, I'll clean up. Thanks for cooking, by the way. And the magic headache power!"

She managed to summon a smile for her friend before she headed down into the lab.

Since accepting Dragon's commission, she'd set all three of her molecular furnaces to full conversion mode. The smallest she had working on neural nodules that would provide the pathways for the positronic synapses. The microscopic nodes were made of a few microns of diamond each, and the number a droid brain had determined its sentience and processing power.

The second unit was producing the various polymers and plasmids that would form the conductive suspension for the nodules, which would transmit the neural positronic signals at a quantum level, providing incredible computing power.

The third furnace was producing the materials to make a factory droid. Just in the five days she'd started working on it, she already had the first of the droid's four arms completed. Each one was as long as her legs, and ended in a series of manipulators and precision tools capable of working on a microscopic level. Dragon provided her with a track-wheeled chasse to mount the droid on—a short-cut that would save her a month of production time.

Someone knocked at the door. "Taylor? We have a guest."

"If it's Armsmaster again, tell him to go away."

Taylor sat up. Her back popped, and only then did she realize she'd been hunched for while. Below her, the droid's second arm was almost done and she had parts laid out for the other two.

She opened her mind and felt a familiar presence that brought a hesitant smile to her face. Sarah read her body language and grinned before leading their guest down into the basement.

Without the pressure of an approaching Endbringer battle, Taylor found herself able to study Mujaji with an objective eye. During their first meeting, it felt like she was talking to a girl her own age. But now, as Sarah led the other cape into her lab, she felt as if she were looking at a woman. A young woman, but still a woman.

And that woman walked across the floor of Taylor's lab without a word and wrapped her in a hug. It was sudden, unexpected, and so honest it left Taylor speechless for a long moment. And then, because it was the only thing she could do, she returned the hug tightly.

Mujaji stepped back and studied Taylor. Her mask was an ornate blue and gold mix of lightning lines that ran up into a short afro. Taylor couldn't remember what she wore in the fight, but she did know it looked different.

The woman's costume was different too—the skirt was gone, replaced by bell-bottom gold slacks lined with navy blue, and a form-fitting dark blue tunic with flared, dramatic sleeves that turned white in jagged lines. It was made of the same tinker fabric as Taylor's ward uniform. However, it also had a neckline that plunged down almost to her navel. Part of it was a dark flesh-colored fabric that made it look more scandalous than it was, but even so it revealed actual side-boob. The fact that Mujaji had more side-boob that Taylor had boobs just meant it worked.

"I like the new costume," Taylor said.

Mujaji grinned. "My mom hated it. My brother said it was hot. How' you doing, baby?"

Taylor grinned weakly. "Good enough, I guess. You?"

The slightly shorter woman shrugged. She then reached up and pulled off her mask. She had brown eyes that almost shimmered, with a broad nose and full, luscious lips. "My name's Ladonna Franklin."

"Taylor Hebert." This time, Taylor hugged her. "I'm glad you came, LaDonna. Are you hungry? We have some curry left."

"I don't fly as fast as Alexandria, it took me three hours to get here," the older cape said. "I could definitely eat."

"Then let's get you fed, and we can talk after."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"So, rumor had it Alexandria was so impressed with me at Brockton Bay that when I graduated she was going to recruit me to serve under Rime," LaDonna said between bites.

"But Rime's a bitch," Sarah injected.

"Oh my God, she is such a bitch!" LaDonna agreed, before smiling at Taylor. "So, when I got the inter-agency email from Barbie here about you being part of a new rapid-reaction team, I thought, 'Hell yeah!'".

Rather than be miffed about being compared to a vapid-headed doll, Sarah chose to take it as a compliment.

"Well we're thrilled to have you. You're going to be our only Alexandria package. So, you're staying at the PRT building tonight, right?"

"Yeah, my stuff's already there," Mujaji said.

Sarah look at Taylor, who nodded back. "We have three spare bedrooms at the front of the house," she said. "No furniture at all. If you want, you're welcome to stay here. We could use your housing allowance to furnish it anyway you want. Only expense would be a share of the groceries plus any household chores—water and electricity are free."

LaDonna made a show of rubbing her chin in thought. "Hmmm, no rent and free utilities? What about internet and cable?"

Sarah grinned and pointed at Taylor. "Little Miss 'I'm not a Tinker' here made her own ISP. No cable, but we have a digital antenna for the local channels and enough broadband to stream the library of Congress."

"Sold!" LaDonna said. "So, I gotta know. Is that girl Alice really stoned all the time?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Thursday morning, while Taylor was in class, Sarah and LaDonna went shopping. Horizon approved of the housing arrangement happily and approved the housing allowance to be deposited into LaDonna's account so she could make the most of her shopping trip.

There were a lot fewer reporters at the school now as well. Taylor hoped they realized she wasn't going to give them the story they wanted and would give up entirely. Still, their presence meant that when her morning classes ended she had to exit through the gym and take the back way to the student parking lot.

Her thoughts raced through the many things she had to do that day—another training session with her squad; finishing her factory production droid and starting on the synthskin for the human replica droid that she was going to eventually build for Dragon.

LaDonna had committed to cooking dinner that night, so that was one less thing she had to do, but still her list was pretty long. Which is why she completely missed Yuki's presence until she almost ran over the petite girl.

Taylor had to admit she looked terrible. Her black hair hung lank and unwashed in clumps around her shoulder. Her skin had the oily, pimply look of long neglect. She even smelled ripe.

The jeans she wore hung loose from her straight hips, revealing a newly pierced navel, and the hoody almost swallowed her up.

"Hi, Taylor!" Her smile looked frantic. "I saw what you said in your interview. I love the costume; you looked a lot better than the blonde slut!"

Her presence in the Force felt ecstatic. She felt no doubt; she projected absolute certainty that Taylor would take her back.

"Yuki, what are you doing here?"

"I'm…I'm here for you! You said you were thinking about me, and that you hoped I got what I need. You said I was your girlfriend! All I need is you, and I'll be fine!"

Taylor stepped up to the girl. Yuki bounced, as if ready to pounce on her in a hug. Before she could, Taylor caught her arm and pulled up one of the sleeves.

The track marks covered the whole interior of her arm; three looked infected and felt even worse in the Force.

"God, Yuki," she whispered.

"It's nothing!" Yuki insisted. "Just something to hold me over until you got out, that's all!"

"I thought that's what Obsidian was for."

Her smile broke. "He's not you. He doesn't understand me like you do!" Her eyes were horribly bloodshot.

"What are you on now, Yuki?"

"Just some pills to…you know, get the courage to come to you!"

Her pupils were dilated and her heart was thudding through her chest. "Come on, Yuki."

She made an excited "eep!" sound. "Can we fuck? Please? I have this itch without you that Todd just can't scratch!"

"I'm not sure that's the type of itch you think it is, Yuki."

She managed to get Yuki to her motorcycle before sending the drugged-out cape into a deep slumber. She was on her phone a minute later. It was hard to ride with Yuki in her arms and blurry eyes, but she managed.


	41. So Called Life

A/N: Chap 40 review responses are in my forums. With this chapter, the team is assembled.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One: Her So-Called Life**

Outside of the very expensive rehab clinic, Taylor sank down onto a bench between two beautiful crepe myrtle trees and just sat with her face in her hands. She wasn't crying; all she felt was a numbed exhaustion. What she wanted more than anything was to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of her life.

However long that might be.

She looked up when she felt Seneca's presence in the Force. He walked alone on the sidewalk from the parking garage, his tie loose and his shirt sleeves rolled up. His PRT badge hung on his belt, with his side-arm on the other. He carried a manila folder in his hands.

"How is she?" He asked when he reached her.

"Bawling and screaming," Taylor said.

The Assistant Director sat on the bench beside her, the folder in his hand. He wordlessly handed it to her. She opened the folder to see the emergency court order within. "I'm surprised Director Foote went along with this."

Seneca chuckled darkly. "The director is very pragmatic. Idealists don't last long as directors. We couldn't hold Yuki in any prison except the Birdcage, and she's not done anything close to that level of punishment. This way, maybe we can get her the help she needs. The question is, will she stay this time? I can throw all the court orders in the world at her, but it won't matter if she can go ghost and just walk out."

Taylor looked down at her clasped hands. "She'll stay. Don't ask how, or why."

"Because you don't know, or because it'd be better for me not to?"

"Yes."

The two sat on the bench for the longest time. The air hung cool and damp, but the rain held off at least for the moment.

"You know, you might actually be one of the bravest, most decent human beings I've ever known, Taylor," he said finally.

She stared at the man; he gave her a lopsided grin. "You just have really, really shitty luck. Speaking off, Triumph and Miss Alcott arrived twenty minutes ago. They're waiting for you at headquarters. I'll take care of the paperwork and funding here."

That _really_ surprised her. "PRT's paying for her treatment?"

"Yuki is a Ward now, in both senses of the word. Plus, Watchdog believes that if she can be rehabilitated and recruited into a PRT team she could be a very useful asset. A breaker of her power with a smidgen of yours? It's worth a little investment. Go on, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The rehab clinic, like most of the more expensive services in the city, was in the North. So, it took only a ten-minute ride to reach the PRT headquarters. The moment she made it past security, she got a text from Sarah telling her to make her way to the Wards room.

When she entered, she found a truly odd tableau. Triumph, a former Ward from Brockton Bay that Taylor once had a crush on, stood in khakis and UNH Brockton Bay hoody with only a domino mask to protect his identity. He was trying his very best to ward off Alice, who was almost drooling as she kept trying to move in on him.

Aiding her cousin, Dinah Alcott wore a disgusted expression on her face as she managed to weave herself into Alice's path whenever the girl got too close to Triumph.

An attractive Asian teen leaned against the wall, arms crossed over a young Justine Bieber T-shirt from his last tour before the Siberian ate him. She watched the odd dance with a gaping jaw. Sarah, meanwhile, sat at the computer not even bothering to hide her laughter.

Triumph had gone beyond mortification, if the Force told her correctly. Though he managed to keep a good poker face, the young man was quickly growing angry.

_Right. He just lost his entire family to the Slaughterhouse Nine._

Dinah saw Taylor first.

"Do something," the young girl begged desperately.

Alice, who was mostly sober, turned to face Taylor. "What? Do what? Oh hey, Taylor. Check out our new eye-candy!"

Taylor knew that Alice wasn't trying to be a bitch. She didn't sense any malice in the girl. In fact, all she sensed was a very deep physical attraction. But it was obvious he wanted nothing to do with her, and it was equally obvious that Alice wasn't getting the hint and had pushed past mere flirting and had now positioned herself well into the realms of sexual harassment.

"I know him, Alice," Taylor said, nodding to the tense, ready-to-fight hero. "We're both from Brockton Bay. Hey, do you have a minute? Something you need to know."

Alice nodded, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. Taylor placed her arms gently over the shorter girl's shoulders and walked her back toward her room.

"Triumph's entire family just got murdered by the Slaughterhouse 9," she whispered softly to Alice. "His parents, and his little sister. Plus, his aunt's entire family. That little girl's his last surviving family, and she's only a cousin. And you just blundered into that like you didn't care."

Alice had grown tense with the news, and now thrummed with confused regret. "I didn't know!" she hissed angrily.

"I know. But you should have, because it was in your day brief. The one you never read. And now Triumph thinks you're an insensitive slag."

"I'm not insensitive!" Alice said, her eyes quickly growing moist. "I just didn't know!"

"I get it. I know you, Alice. I think you're a good person, you just don't always pay attention to what's happening around you. It's probably too late to make a move on him, but if you give him some space for a few days and then try again, nicely, you could probably be friends."

The older Ward sank down onto her bed, tears streaming up from under her mask. "Fuck, I messed it up again!"

She started hitting her head hard enough to redden the skin with the heels of her hand until Taylor sat beside her and hugged her again.

"You know Bill really likes you."

"He's got a zit on his forehead bigger than Mount Rainier," she said.

"He's sixteen, Alice. He's going to grow out of it."

"He's so goofy."

"He's going to grow out of that too. Probably. I mean, he's got to grow up eventually, right?"

Alice snorted, then wiped her eyes. "I feel like shit. You sure he doesn't hate me? Triumph, I mean?"

"I'm sure. Just give him some space, then in a few days tell him you didn't know about his family. That you're sorry, and you'd just like to be friends. Just give it a few days, okay?"

"Right. Okay. Thanks."

Taylor left her there in her room, closing the door behind her as she walked out into the Ward room. Triumph had drifted toward the cape Taylor knew was probably Flechette.

"So, I guess everyone knows everyone else?" Sarah said. "Taylor, this is Triumph."

"He guarded me a few times before my trial," Taylor said. "And you're Flechette?"

The Asian girl nodded. "Yeah."

Taylor looked at Sarah, who shrugged. "Horizon's back in Los Angeles working things out with Alexandria. Ward duty doesn't officially start 'til 3, and Romulus is on Console. We're free to go."

Taylor looked at the others. Dinah stood with her arms crossed, her face set in stone. In the Force, though, she could feel the girl fighting back an urge to cry.

With a bitter sigh at her own failure to keep Dinah safe, Taylor walked across the floor and hugged her. Dinah hugged her back desperately, and only then did the sob she'd been holding in finally erupt.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Despite the invitation, Triumph elected to stay in a guest room at the Protectorate Headquarters. Given he would have been alone in a house filled with teenaged girls, Taylor could understand his reluctance.

Flechette, however, happily accepted the invitation to a room at Casa de Quintessence. Dinah made it clear she was staying with Taylor. Since Sarah had the car, she drove Dinah and Flechette, while Taylor took her bike.

Taylor felt no surprise when she saw work crews with heavy equipment digging out the basement space for the headquarters. The plans called for only a single sub-level because of the general instability of the soil and the rest of earthquakes. However, the sublevel would still be very large and would serve as the armory and lab.

She parked her bike far enough up for Sarah to get her cherry-red sports car into their house. The garage door closed behind them.

"This is a nice place," Flechette said. "And it's yours?"

Taylor pulled off her helmet. "I paid for it with my clinic proceeds," she said. "Sarah, could you show her around? I need to check on my lab."

"Yes, captain my captain," Sarah said with a snark. She pulled her mask off. "By the way, I'm Sarah Livsey. Pleasure to have you on the team."

Flechette didn't even blink; evidently unmasking to teammates was normal. She did so herself, revealing a long, occidental face with a pale complexion and dark, dark brown eyes. She looked nothing like Yuki, with a much more oval shape to her features and smaller, less doll-like eyes.

"Lily Tomlinson," she said.

The two shook hands. Taylor stepped forward to do the same. "Glad to have you. See you in a few?"

"Come, Lily, let's go explore the mansion!" Sarah declared.

The two walked out of the garage, leaving Dinah and Taylor alone. She wasn't looking around the spacious but mostly empty space. Instead, she stared intently at Taylor. Smiling sadly, Taylor offered her hand to the girl, who accepted without question, and then led her down into the lab.

Dinah stopped two feet in. "Why's there a naked woman in your lab?"

"What? That's not…oh." Taylor couldn't help but grin, not because of Dinah's mistake, but because at first-glance she could understand it. "That's a gynoid—a robotic body. I call it a Human Replica Droid. Don't worry, it's not done. No brain yet."

Dinah drifted closer to the HRD Taylor had made for Dragon. She reached out and poked at one the HRD's breasts. She then cupped them. Taylor was waiting for the question on how she made the skin feel so real, and was ready to explain the keratinocyte material she'd merged into a denser silicate base to provide the most human-like skin ever seen on Earth.

"Wow," Dinah said, instead. "Why'd you make her boobs so big?"

Taylor stared a moment, her rehearsed answer melting away. "They're not that big. The specifications were Dragon's anyway."

"What cup size?"

"How do you…are you even wearing bras yet?"

"Are you?"

Taylor sputtered. Dinah turned and walked down to examine the pubic area. "Wow, you even gave her a pussy with hair? Are you making a sex robot?"

"Dinah! Of course not…"

It then hit Taylor, like a ton of bricks, that Dragon was good friends with Armsmaster. That Armsmaster cared for Dragon so much the man was willing to swallow his pride and come begging for help from the one person he held responsible for his life's collapse. Dragon had specifically asked for a completely anatomically correct body, with all of the artificial nerve clusters in her positronic matrix that a human body would have. She wanted a body capable of sensing and processing physical stimuli as close to a human as possible.

She wanted a body capable of having and enjoying sex.

"Holy shit, I might be," she admitted. Then, "Dinah, stop playing with that!"

"But it's so soft. How'd you make it feel like real hair?"

Shaking her head, Taylor grabbed a sheet and covered the HRD. "You're just playing with me, aren't you?"

Dinah shrugged. "What else are you doing?"

By the time the house intercom beeped to let her know that dinner was ready, Taylor had walked Dinah through her various projects. The two big ones were her droids—the gynoid for Dragon and the manufacturing droid for herself. Both were almost done.

"Once my droid's done, its first project will be a second manufacturing droid body. I have to make the brain myself—droid's can't really reproduce on their own. But with two manufacturing droids, I should be able to get started on equipment for the team."

"Cool. Can I have a laser sword?"

Taylor gave her a look. "What are the odds of you hurting yourself or someone else with it?"

Dinah's hopeful smile faded. "Spoilsport."

"I'll make you a cool suit of armor, though," Taylor said. "And when you're older, I'll give you a jetpack."

"That's fair."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

LaDonna Franklin's enchiladas consisted of flour tortillas, a pound of cheese, a pound of hamburger cooked with a packet of taco seasoning, and a large can of red sauce. She garnished it with refried beans from a can, mixed with a jar of picante sauce, and a packaged salad.

Thinking of Mrs. Lopez's homemade chimichangas, Taylor felt vaguely guilty for enjoying the meal as much as she did. She realized, though, it wasn't just the food.

Lily and Ladonna discovered a mutual love of Earth Aleph vampire movies. They were having a lively discussion over whether vampires should sparkle or not. Sarah was on her phone while she ate, but Dinah kept flicking tomatoes at her from across the table with her spoon.

"I will put liquid heat in your underwear if you don't stop," Sarah said without looking up.

"No, you won't," Dinah said with calm assurance, before flicking a chunk of diced cucumber. This time Sarah managed to avoid it.

She couldn't avoid the piece of tomato from Taylor.

Sarah put down her phone with a put-upon sight. "Right. I get it. No phones at the table."

Dinah gave a satisfied nod before she continued eating her enchilada. She had, with great precision, managed to remove every trace of ground beef from within each of her two enchiladas. Then, confusing Taylor's assumption that she didn't like meat, Dinah mixed the taco meat into her refried beans before eating it.

"Are you girls okay with a chore chart?" Sarah finally asked.

"You've already drawn one up," Taylor noted.

"Yeah, for three of us. Now there's five. I know you have Mrs. Lopez coming by for general cleaning. But I'm thinking for cooking, taking out the trash. Things like that."

"I can cook grilled cheese and eggs," Dinah announced proudly. "And cookies. If they come in the frozen roll."

Lily snorted. "More'n me. I can't even microwave popcorn without it burning."

"Taylor and LaDonna can cook," Sarah said. "I can."

"Bullshit." Taylor at least pretended to cough when she said it.

Dinah giggled. It was an infectious sound that soon had the others chuckling. Sarah's expression just made it worse. The young pre-cog seemed to stump her thinker abilities; or at least Dinah was able to work around it in such a way that left Sarah a little flabbergasted.

Tattletale would have used her power to attack and tear down. She'd have made vicious jokes about Dinah's dead parents and her role in those deaths. Taylor watched and sensed as Sarah worked through her initial surge of anger at being made fun of. She met Taylor's eyes and saw her watching, and for that one moment she might as well have been as psychic as she was.

_Family._

Sarah flicked a glob of beans right between Dinah's eyes. The youngest of their team screamed in dismay, then dispensed with the spoon and went straight for the beans with her hands. Things devolved from there.

Taylor couldn't remember the last time she laughed so hard.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

After they cleaned up and got all the dishes sorted, Taylor finished up her homework while Sarah walked their two newest members through their rooms to make wish lists of what they would need. After, Taylor went down to finish up her work in the lab.

Four hours later, after the others were sound asleep, Taylor shut everything down except the positronic interface where she was shaping the brain that would perhaps, if everything went well, hold Dragon's soul. She went to her suite and showered quickly.

She kept waiting for Yuki to offer to scrub her back even though she knew it was silly. Finally, her hair washed, combed and wrapped in a towel, she walked out into the bedroom to finish up some homework and catch the news. She'd just finished when she heard a light knock and felt a familiar presence on the other side.

Dinah walked in at her direction. She was dressed in Winnie the Pooh pajamas, clutching a ragged stuffed rabbit in her hand. The rabbit looked like it may have been white, once, but was now a well-loved but grungy gray color.

She didn't say anything, but then again, she didn't have to. She didn't quite meet Taylor's eyes, but until Taylor nodded. "Come on."

She ran, then, hopping up on the bed.

"Winnie the Pooh? Really?"

"My parents didn't know I grew up," she said. "'Sides, they're silk. Real silk."

"Huh."

Taylor turned out the light.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Campanile was eight feet tall.

It was hard to tell at first because his was not an awkward height. Rather, his body was so perfectly proportioned that it wasn't until stepped off the heliport platform and walked down the steps to meet Horizon that Taylor recognized that it wasn't a small helicopter, just a very big passenger.

Horizon, who was a completely average 5'4" barely reached the man's navel. It didn't help that he wore a skin-tight costume similar in nature to Sarah's but without the modesty-saving skirt. The color scheme wasn't exactly subtle. The gray wasn't too bad, but as the very long suit rose up from his ballet-style shoes, it grew into a screaming canary yellow that highlighted every bulge of his body in neon yellow.

The fact that Horizon's head rose just above his hips made all those bulges ridiculously obvious.

He had to bend down to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you," he said politely. He spoke with a Mid-West accent, like an extra from a Chicago gangster movie.

"Glad you could join us." Taylor admired how even Horizon kept her voice.

The giant then turned to Taylor. His walk looked so completely normal, except he had a meter and a half stride which meant one step and he was in front of her, his bulge just feet from her face. He bent over again and offered a hand which swallowed hers completely.

"Good to have you aboard," Taylor said. "Look, I've got to ask. What's with the costume?"

"My breaker field only extends a few millimeters from my skin," he said. Considering the man's size, he had a surprisingly normal pitch to his voice. Not high, per se, but not the deep, cavernous sound she would have expected. "If the clothing is too loose, it won't grow with me. Believe me, I'm not wearing this because it's comfortable."

Just like Yuki, Taylor realized. Then: "Why yellow, though?"

"Mom said if you can't hide it, decorate it."

Taylor pointedly did _not_ ask what, specifically, was supposed to be decorated.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Shortly before Thanksgiving, while Mr. Lopez and his people were working on putting a roof on the mostly concrete structure that would make up the headquarters of the Rapid Reaction team, Armsmaster walked out onto the Protectorate Headquarters field training center in full armor, a new halberd attached to his back and his new arm indistinguishable from the organic one.

Taylor felt him coming in the Force, but didn't look away from their exercise. Scapetti's men were testing out her new blaster/stunner carbines in a coordinated strike with their capes against the Portland PRT and Protectorate.

Following the Overmind campaign, the Portland Protectorate team only had four adult members and two Wards. None were particularly powerful in the rating scale. Their PRT field agents were well trained, though, and when Horizon invited the Portland team to a joint exercise, their director accepted.

He sent fifty agents and all of their capes for the day. Five minutes into their third exercise for the day, most were already down at the nozzles of the carbine stun pulses. With Dinah beside her holding her hand, the Force seemed to unfold before Taylor like a tapestry, giving her a near omniscient understanding of the training field and those moving within it.

When Portland's only brute, a long-haired muscle man who called himself Samson, pushed down one of the cinder-block structures of the training center, hoping to crush Flechette and the two agents paired with her, Taylor had Triumph positioned before the first brick even fell. While he could never use his full power on a person, against a falling building to save his colleagues he didn't hesitate at all.

Taylor could see the air distort under his sonic roar—the masonry exploded into dust and pebbles, blown well away from Lily and her escorts. Before Samson could do anything else, Campanile suddenly expanded to thirty feet tall between one-step and another and kicked Samson hard enough to send the man screaming into the bay a fifth of a mile away.

One of the other Portland capes gathered a massive swarm of insects, but at an unconscious urging from Taylor, Scapetti and his men started firing their carbines on a broad stun setting that wiped out the swarm before the startled Ward could finish gathering it.

Flechette's empowered containment foam grenade blasted right through the wall the Ward hid behind before exploding in the startled girl's face, while Mujaji put the last two capes down so quickly Taylor couldn't sense who dropped first—Flechette's bug-girl or the two Mujaji took out.

Beside her in the observation both, Sarah whistled. "Damn, that only took nine-two seconds."

Beside her, Director Cavanaugh shook his head.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified. They lasted longer than that even against Alexandria's team."

"Just imagine if Alexandria's Thinker power were perfectly synergized with the most powerful pre-cog in the world," Sarah said with a grin and a nod to Taylor and Dinah, who for the training session was wearing a tunic made out of black armorweave of Taylor's own creation and a helmet that hide her entire head that made her look like a miniature Shock Trooper from Cosmic Wars.

Sarah smirked. "Oh, and here comes the newest member of the Guild. Heya, Armsy!"

"It's Defiant now, thank you," the now _former_ Armsmaster said.

His suit was more of an army green now.

"Director Cavanaugh. Good to see you."

"You too, Defiant," the young director said without missing a beat. "How's the Guild treating you?"

"Very well, thank you. And its Guild business that brings me here. Quintessence, the Guild has a mission for you. If you're willing to meet with me for a briefing in one hour, that would be appreciated."

Sarah clicked her tongue. "You found the Dragonslayers."

Defiant nodded. "We did. And with your help, we're taking them out."


	42. Slaying the Dragon

A/N: Chap 40 review responses are in my forums as normal. This isn't the longest chapter in the world, but did the Dragonslayers ever really have that much of a chance?

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two: Slaying the Dragon**

"Surveillance detected Saint and an unnamed woman at Grouchy Mike's Cafe and Bistro, in Grouch, Idaho, three months ago," Defiant said.

He brought up a photo on the briefing room monitor of a small, single-story wood structure with a Dr. Seuss-inspired picture of a grouchy, mustachioed man on the sign announcing Grouchy Mike's. On the porch under the sign, Saint appeared to be a young man with a shaved head and a glaring tattoo of circuits in the shape of a cross on his face. He sat drinking coffee with an attractive, fit blonde woman. Not very subtle for someone needing to stay under the radar.

Then again, why would there be surveillance cameras in a small coffee shop in Idaho?

"His civilian name is Geoffrey Pellick," Defiant continued. "His companion is Margaret Summerall. Neither are parahuman. He's been given a Tinker 0 classification because he was enhanced by Teacher to learn Dragon's technology. But since he is not parahuman, the Vikare Law is not in effect."

Taylor glanced at Horizon; the older cape kept her lips pursed as the tinker continued his presentation in the briefing room of the PRT Headquarters building. Neither Director Foote nor Assistant Director Seneca were in the room—this was to be a joint Guild/ Rapid Reaction team operation only.

"How did you get surveillance in Idaho?" Horizon finally asked.

"A patron of the café thought Saint's tattoo was proof that the country was going to hell, and wrote about it extensively on social media," Defiant said. "And did so again yesterday. This time, I had a drone in place. He's occupied an abandoned Tinker Lab roughly an hour away in the mountains. The main entrance is located in a five-hundred-foot sheer basalt cliff. The road-access entrance would require heavy ordinance and a prolonged bombardment that we won't be able to risk."

The slide switched to drone footage of the cliff—a striking column of basalt that protruded out like the prow of a ship from the steep slope of a mountain that continued far above it.

"I didn't know they had mountains in Idaho," Campanile said.

"I didn't either," Taylor admitted.

"Don't they grow potatoes there?" Dinah asked. "I like French fries and potato chips."

Defiant cleared his throat. In the Force, she could feel his irritation. She could also feel Dinah's satisfaction. And Sarah's exultation. The former Tattletale had found a disciple, it appeared.

"I'm sure they do," Defiant said. "We know that the Dragonslayers have compromised Dragon's communication network so thoroughly that they can see and hear anything she accesses. We also believe they may have a remote means of killing Dragon instantly. It's imperative that we infiltrate and neutralize the targets as soon as possible."

He meant kill. Taylor studied the man intently. She realized quickly enough that he feared what would happen if Saint announced to the world that Dragon was an artificial intelligence. For Dragon, Defiant would violate his own morals. He would kill.

"Dinah?" Taylor asked.

"Eight-one point five-five-two," Dinah said.

"I'm afraid to ask," Lily muttered.

Sarah, though, understood. "There could be two questions—odds of Defiant murdering the Dragonslayers to protect Dragon, or odds of Quintessence infiltrating and taking them out solo."

"Over ninety percent killing them," Dinah said.

Defiant stood stiffly, like a robot himself.

Horizon, though, looked from Taylor to Dinah. "You think you can get in?"

Taylor nodded. "Yeah. Mujaji can fly me in over the water, then fall back with the rest of the team while I infiltrate. Without their suits, they're baseline humans. If they get to their suits, the game's over anyway and Dragon's dead. I don't think we'd even need a large team. Maybe you, Mujaji and Insight to detect any traps or failsafes."

"And myself," Defiant said.

"Only if I have your word that Saint and his colleagues will be taken alive," Horizon said. Taylor hadn't heard her speak so firmly before. She didn't sound like a mom to her children; she sounded like an officer speaking to soldiers under her command.

Strangely, Defiant responded in kind. "Very well."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

On that Thursday, AD Seneca contacted the school to let them know that Taylor was going to be out on Wards business for the remainder of the week. Her missed assignments were gathered by a plain-clothes PRT agent.

Meanwhile, Taylor was assembling the proto-type armor that she planned to outfit Scapetti's people with for her own use. The armor-weave body suit clung tightly, but had enough give for her to still move without too much resistance. More importantly, it had the connections for the various thin plates of durasteel that hooked onto strategic points on her arms and legs.

The solid chest plate ended just under her breasts and then extended with a more flexible armor weave that hung below her waist and was cinched with her utility belt that held her sabers, a blaster pistol, a first aid kit (she couldn't replicate Bacta, unfortunately), and zip-ties.

Most importantly for this mission, though, were the repulsor coils around the belt, and the helmet that integrated everything and provided her audio and video feeds to the command station Sarah and Horizon would run in their PRT-donated tinker-tech VTOL.

Sarah walked down the stairs into her lab and stopped just inside as Taylor finished clipping on her weapons. "What?"

"Holy shit, you look hot."

Taylor frowned and stared. "What?"

"Full-on, bad-ass warrior woman hot," Sarah continued. "I'm almost afraid of letting Scapetti's boys see you like that." She grinned and sauntered toward Taylor. For this mission she was also in costume—the super-skin tight costume with the little skirt that kept everyone from seeing the definition of her privates through the tinker-tech fabric.

She put her hands on Taylor's shoulders, studying her. "Amazing," she finally said with a genuine smile. "Look at yourself, Taylor. There's a mirror upstairs. Just go…just go look, okay? Strider won't be here for a while anyway."

Doubtful, Taylor did as she was told. She could hear Scapetti and his team in the atrium of the house. She had no doubt the other men of Scapetti's team were there as well. She didn't need to go that far to reach the first floor bathroom off the kitchen.

The image she saw in the mirror felt oddly confusing.

It wasn't a teenager that stared back at her. It was a woman—a powerful, confident woman with intelligent, experienced pure-black eyes. The costume fit snugly enough against her slim frame that it actually gave her a more feminine shape than her normal clothes. The belt with its holster and clips made her hips look wider than they were, while the chest plate added the illusion of definition. She wasn't really flat, not like Yuki, but she'd never by top heavy. But in the armor, it didn't matter.

_Why does armor make me look more like a woman?_

She put on her helmet; as soon as the collar sealed with the armorweave bodysuit the systems started up, giving her a HUD read-out of system statuses and communications channels. It also provided a wide field of visibility in any spectrum she needed. With the black, narrow and sleek helmet, she looked _dangerous_.

She took it back off, but for a brief, confusing moment her mind played a trick on her. It wasn't Taylor Hebert she saw in the mirror. Rather, it was a thin woman with impossibly large, glimmering blue eyes with bone-white skin and a ponytail of pure white-hair growing from the back of an otherwise shaved head. The image only lasted a second; she blinked and it was Taylor Hebert looking back.

"Huh."

With her helmet in her arms, she walked out into the training atrium of her house.

Jan Stanitz was the first to see her and whistled. She actually wolf-whistled at Taylor. That pulled the attention of the rest of the ten-person squad.

"That's a helluva a load-out there, kid," Laura Davis said from where she stood beside Scapetti.

The red-head, Rad Callister, stared with an admiring grin. The others at least pretended to be adults.

"Glad you like it, yours is next," she said, trying her best to sound like a professional. "They're tinker-tech materials. The bodysuit's a metallic fiber weave that should be able to stop anything short of a heavy sniper round. The armor plates can handle those even better. It's less effective with energy weapons, but you shouldn't be up against too many of those. Integrated repulsor coils provide anti-grav for high-altitude jumps. There's a modular jetpack too, but I haven't finished the noise bafflers, so it wouldn't work here. Integrated all-environment helmet with full tactical HUD and communications. You can even slave your weapons sights into a targeting reticle, like a video game."

"Will you marry me?" Callister said.

He was only joking; she could feel it in the Force. But there was also an underlying thread of sudden attraction that brought a bright blush to her cheeks. The old Taylor would have slinked off in embarrassment.

Though it took an effort of will, she met his gaze and forced a smile. "I could never marry a man named Rad. Sorry."

"Ah, damn it!" he said with faux heartbreak. "Curse my parents for giving me such an awesome name!"

Horizon stepped in through the main front entrance of the house in full costume. Only, like Taylor, she didn't bother with her flashy public costume. She wore a light PRT tactical vest over black body glove of the Protectorate standard tinker fabric. Taylor's newly completed manufacturing droid was already working on her armor, with all the others getting their own.

Even Campanile was going to get a set of Armorweave. Anything to get him out of that horrid-colored porn suit his mother helped him design. Of course, he and Triumph were in their dorms at PRT headquarters sleeping. Dinah was upstairs in Taylor's room, sound asleep, though Taylor could sense Lily was awake and reading.

Mujaji walked in behind Horizon, with Defiant a step behind. Unlike Horizon, she was wearing her costume. Rad grinned. "Ah, my savior! Mujaji, Quint there rejected me. Would you marry a man named Rad?"

Mujaji snorted. "Do I look like I'd wanna marry a ginger?"

"Yes," Rad said with a grin.

Jan snorted and hit the back of his head. Before it could devolve too far, Scapetti put on his game face. "Form up, shit-faces. We got a mission. Horizon, Quintessence, what's the word?"

"Word is 'go'," Horizon said. "Defiant?"

"Drones confirm the Dragonslayers are in residence for the night," the tinker said. "Flight time is an hour, we'll arrive near one hundred hours. Wheels up in ten. Quintessence, Strider is scheduled to arrive in thirty minutes. You and Mujaji will have thirty-minutes to infiltrate the facility and safe the kill-switch. If you are delayed for any reason, break radio silence at…"

"I have a quantum-locked channel to Insight," Taylor said. "My helmet is sound proofed. There's no danger of signal intercept. She'll have real-time telemetry and will coordinate our timing."

Sarah chose that moment to walk in, carrying a helmet identical to Taylor's. "Trust us, Defiant. This may be our first mission together, but this isn't our first rodeo."

"Why is it we have to be stuck with all the hot, underage capes?" Martin, one of Scapetti's younger men, muttered to the others.

Horizon patted the soldier's cheeks. "I appreciate the compliment, sweetie, but I'm older than you and married. Scapetti?"

"Right. Let's go, grunts. Time to stand around and let the hot young capes do all the work! MOVE!"

"Don't have too much fun without us," Sarah called over her shoulder as she followed behind Horizon and Defiant after the squad of heavily armed, armored PRT agents. When they were alone with half an hour to go, Taylor led Mujaji back to her lab.

"You said you didn't want a helmet, right?"

"Don't want to mess up the hair," Mujaji said. "Braids like these are works of art."

Taylor had to admit the braids were beautiful and intricate. "So, I came up with something else for you."

It was a new mask, but a thick one with a solid visor that reached back to integrated ear pieces and a band that actually fit along the nape of her neck, invisible under her braids. Mujaji looked skeptical at first, until she tried them on. Taylor slipped on her own helmet and immediately saw a new channel feed that she labelled Mujaji.

"Can you hear me?"

"Wow, like your whispering in my ears," she said. "And this is secure?"

"Yeah."

"So, you think that Ginger was cute?"

"Yeah. Not my type, but he's cute. You see him when he's working out in the weight room at PRT headquarters?"

Mujaji giggled. "Hell yeah. Too bad about that whole fraternization thing, I'd snatch him up in a minute."

Taylor stared. "But you said you hated gingers!"

"Oh, you sweet child! Never let 'em know you're interested. You gotta make 'em work for you, otherwise they take you for granted. Trust me, learned that the hard way. But if he's not your type, who'd you pick?"

"I don't know," Taylor admitted. "Not ready to jump into that bandwagon, yet. Too soon, I guess."

Mujaji removed her visor, and for a moment became LaDonna. "You know, I'm not gonna judge if you'd prefer Davis or Jan than Callister or Hollis. I don't care who you love, you know?"

Her helmet came off with a hiss and she smiled at the older woman. "Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it. Yuki was…" She shrugged. "Anyway, got too much to worry about to jump into the lake again. Strider's gonna be here in a few minutes. Wanna get ready?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Yer not gonna throw up again, are you?" Strider demanded when he appeared soundlessly in front of them in the driveway behind her house.

"It'd gunk up my helmet," Taylor said dryly. In truth, she'd been meditating for the past few minutes to completely separate herself from the Force. She felt oddly numb, as if she'd cut off a limb, but she hoped it would help with the teleportation sickness.

"Right. Mujaji, gotta say, that's a right sexy outfit. A shame I'm ugly and older'n your dad, I'd show you the world."

He took their arms and whisked them to Idaho before they had a chance to say a word, and then disappeared not even a second later.

The Guild was going to pay the man $10,000 for a few seconds of work.

The cold broke her out of her thoughts. Beside her, through their open channel, she heard Mujaji curse. "Fuck, it's cold."

They stood in a foot of snow on a mountain top looking out over another mountain lit by moonlight and not much else. They saw a tiny clump of lights in the valley floor far away, but otherwise the mountains looked almost untouched by human hands.

The sheer beauty of it made Taylor freeze as she opened her mind back to the Force. Beside her, she could sense the second she too saw where they stood. Without a word, Mujaji rested a hand on Taylor's shoulder.

"I never knew places like this existed," Taylor whispered.

"Let's do this thing. We can come back later with some skis or something."

Taylor brought up her tactical display and GPS. A spot four miles away lit up on her HUD. She activated her repulsor coils with her vambrace before nodding to Mujaji.

The other girl gripped the back of Taylor's chestplate before lifting effortlessly into the air. While she could easily have carried Taylor at full weight, by making herself weightless Mujaji could drop her without issue in the event they were attacked.

They both flew just inches over the trees until they reached the narrow mountain stream that ran between the peaks. It was the most exhilarating experience of Taylor's life. Mujaji had full mastery over her flight power and approached speeds of a hundred miles an hour or more.

They flew within twenty feet of Grouchy Mike's Café and Bistro.

"_Quintessence, what's your status?"_ Sarah asked over the locked channel.

"Coming up on target now," Taylor said. "Stand by. Mujaji, just drop me at the base of the mountain and then move to the peak opposite, stay in the trees if you can. If I call, bring the thunder."

"You know I will."

The repulsor coils created fields of null gravity. They did not impact airflow or any other aspect of the environment. Which meant when Mujaji let Taylor go at the base of the basalt up-thrust before continuing down the creek to get out of sight before climbing, Taylor drifted in open air under the slight breeze caused by the creek and the ravine it ran through.

She called upon the Force to bring her close enough to the rock to grab it, and then concentrated on _not being important. She was nothing, just another piece of rock on the mountain. _

With her body rendered weightless, Taylor was able to easily pull herself up the side of the basalt cliff. She dedicated most of her attention to the suggestion field around her, while her helmet used thermal imaging to tell her exactly where the surface switched from solid rock to a thin slide of rock glued to a steel lattice work. And above that, a ventilation shaft hidden behind a fake bush that looked like it had sprouted from a small ledge on the mountain.

With the Force as her ally, unscrewing the vent was easily done. And with her repulsor coils, what would have been a tight fit with terribly restricted movements instead became a near effortless slide. She could use just her fingers to pull herself through the shaft.

Naturally, there was a fan. Nor was it a small fan. She had to press her feet out against the walls of the shaft to keep the fan from blowing her back out. After a few minutes, the fan turned itself off.

Sighing with relief, Taylor again used the Force to quickly unscrew the fasteners of the filter that protected the interior of the lair from animals and who knew what else, and in so doing revealed a maintenance hatch in the floor.

In seconds, she was crawling down a steel rung ladder in an access tube until she reached what looked like flight bay. She'd never realized when she read about the Dragonslayer suits online that the suits were basically giant mecha. The smallest stood only a little larger than a man. However, the largest stood twenty feet tall and bristled with weapons of every description.

She felt just three presences in the Force, all across the bay. Pushing her suggestion field even harder around her, Taylor walked calmly through the bay toward what had to be the main part of the base.

Within she found storerooms filled with canned foods, batteries, toilet paper and even tampons. Instead of water, they had water filtration systems and whole casks filled with gasoline. And in what looked like a bedroom with the door cracked open, Taylor found Geoff Pelicki and Margaret Sumerall together on a mattress on the floor.

Their naked bodies were entangled in each other so thoroughly it was hard to see where one began and the other ended. They looked peaceful. Happy. She sank them both down so deep in sleep it would take an explosion to wake them. Leaving them, she continued further into the base.

The third man was in a control room filled with so many computer servers that it was noticeably hotter. He sat drinking what smelled like coffee while watching at least half a dozen monitors. Some showed what looked like a constantly stream of computer code, while other screens showed various settings. She didn't understand the lustful feelings from the man, though. Not until she got closer.

One of the screens had a high definition, full color view of a very naked Narwhal, without her horn or shimmering body of forcefields, drying her hair while talking to someone off camera.

_Damn that woman has nice tits._ The man's thoughts rang in her mind with such clarity he might as well have spoken aloud.

Then she realized that this man was using their access to Dragon's code to perv on other capes. Granted, it was a cape Taylor despised, but the principal of it disgusted her. The man didn't even have a chance to turn around before she had her saber out, lit and on its highest stun setting.

He made a satisfying "_oomph_" sound as he flew out of the chair. She hit him again to make sure he was down before securing his wrists and ankles. She then walked back to the room with the two naked love birds, stunned them both with her pistol, and then secured them up naked.

She then covered them in their blanket. Just because.

"_Status?"_

Sarah, of course, was watching through their secure channel.

"Facility secured. ETA_?"_

"_We're still five minutes out."_

"See you then. Mujaji, feel free to make a hole."

"_Gotcha."_

By the time the VTOL reached the base, Mujaji had ripped the entire bay door off, providing enough space of the sleek carrier to hover in on Tinker-tech hover jets into the spacious bay. Scapetti and his team rushed out in pairs, their carbines pointing everywhere at once, while Defiant, Horizon and Insight followed behind.

"Any trouble?" Horizon asked.

Taylor shook her head. "Just got a little more of an eyeful than I wanted. Someone tell Dragon so she can stop talking to Narwhal while she's naked. I don't think she'd appreciate Defiant seeing that."

Defiant looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment. "Hm, yes, I…yes, I'll let her know immediately."

"Good job," Horizon said with an approving nod. "Let's go see what we have. Insight?"

"At once, _mon capitaine!_" Sarah said with a jaunty salute and a skip to her step. "I'm going to liberate the fuck out of these asshole's money! Yeah for being a good guy!"


	43. Atop A Lonely Mountain

A/N: Review responses are in my forums. As a reminder, to give quarantined folks a little something extra to read, I'll be posting twice weekly until Quintessence is done-on Saturdays and Tuesday evenings. And with that, I present Love Death + Robots Worm style.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Three: Atop a Lonely Mountain**

The grocer truck did not look like much as it wove through narrow, treacherous mountains. The truck at times came within inches of drop-offs of several hundred feet. Taylor sat in the passenger side of the truck, trying her best not to think about it. She was fairly certain she could cut her away out and survive if Scapetti took them off the road, but she didn't want to risk it.

The road should have been impassible this high in the mountains above Vancouver the day after Christmas. However, this road had filaments within the tinker-tech concrete that prevented any ice or snow accumulation, while increasing tire grip strength. The speed limit of 45 kilometers per hour (they _were _ in Canada, after all) was not a suggestion, though.

"Relax, kid," Scapetti said as he drove. "This ain't nothin'. Drove a humvee in Nicaragua back in '04 on roads a helluva lot worse than this."

"Scapetti, I've seen your file. You're still in your twenties. Your not that much older than me. I'm not a kid."

He snorted. "Talk to me again when you can walk into a bar and have a beer."

Ahead, as the sun began to set, the road ended at what looked like a small car park and observation platform that, admittedly, revealed a spectacular view of the Squamish River Valley. As they approached, the rock wall before them split open reveal a well-lit tunnel. Scapetti didn't even slow down as they drove into the side of Mount Garibaldi.

The tunnel terminated in a loading dock large enough for the truck to turn around. Scapetti skillfully backed it up to one of the docks. By the time Taylor climbed out of the truck cab and up the stairs, Colin Wallis was already there waiting for them. She noticed that his right shoulder had been operated on again, and now had titanium bracing around what looked like a socket where his shoulder would have been.

"When did you get that?" he asked.

"Thanksgiving," he said shortly. "The upgraded T-shunt you licensed will result in a 90% improvement to both sensation and movement once the new arm is completed."

Scapetti opened the back of the truck, and together they began carting out the equipment that would, hopefully, give Dragon a body.

Collin, clad in khakis and a knit sweater, led them into the server farm where Dragon housed her sentience. "Hello, Taylor," the AI's voice said over the speakers. Even to Taylor, she sounded excited. "Thank you so much for coming. And you, Agent Scapetti, for driving."

"We're all off duty," Scapetti said. "Charles or Scapetti."

"Not Chuck?" Dragon asked.

"Charles means strong," Scapetti said. "Chuck means pussy."

"Charles it is."

The interface table was built to the exact specifications Taylor sent. She didn't even need to check to know-Dragon would do no less. She pushed the container pod next to the table, opened it to reveal the HRD within, and levitated it onto the table face down. It was fully clothed in a simple blue jumpsuit.

Taylor secured the gynoid to the table, and swiveled it up to gain access to the back of the table surface and the open skull of the gynoid's head. She swung the interface plate on the table up and carefully hooked it into the body before returning the table to its horizontal position.

At her motion, Scapetti pushed her portable station to the table where she began hooking up the ultra-high capacity filament tables into the server farm. "Dragon, I've finished the new simulated intelligence. I've named it Uriel. You've already reviewed most of the code."

"Ah, the archangel guard of Tartarus from the Septuagint. Fitting. I have the server space already dedicated to him."

"Okay, whenever you're ready, we'll begin the upload."

"I'm ready."

Even with cables capable of transmitting the equivalent of the Library of Congress in a minute, it still took almost an hour. "The programming is so elegant," Dragon said as they finished up. "I've successfully installed Uriel in the Birdcage. All systems are running at full capacity, no interruption."

Taylor couldn't help a sigh of relief. Nothing would be able to proceed if they couldn't safely separate Dragon from her Birdcage monitoring duties. The old AIs she'd managed to capture from her creator were not sufficient for long-term control of the parahuman prison. So instead Dragon and Taylor worked for two months straight setting the parameters of a new simulated intelligence to step in to keep the prison running.

It also had the added benefit of being accessible from PRT Washington and the Federal Department of Justice. No longer would the Birdcage be solely under Dragon's purview. The droid tinker was still getting paid a huge amount for her work, but now the US and Canadian justice departments would take a role in its status as well. By virtue of that, they were also taking the responsibility partially off dragon's virtual shoulders.

Taylor leaned back and looked around the room. "That's it, then. This is your last chance to change your mind."

"You sound like there's a danger," Collin said suspiciously.

"There is," Taylor told the man bluntly. "Dragon is more than her code. She has actual sentience. While nor organic, she has a spark of soul. There is no way for us to guarantee with one hundred percent certainty that the spark which makes her _Dragon_ will transfer."

"But she transfers to her suits," he said.

Taylor shrugged. "I know. We're using those same parameters. But she's transferring into a receptacle from which she will never be able to transfer out. There _is_ a danger."

"I understand, Taylor," Dragon said before Collin could respond. "I believe that the risk is worth the reward of being...free."

Artificial or not, Taylor could _feel_ the entity's longing and desperation.

"Then let's do this," Taylor said. "The transfer will take four hours at least, and it will take another three or four hours for you to run through the various systems of your body."

"I understand. I've placed the facility on standby. I've made sure that quarters are available for you with food and drinks. I made sure to have Charles's favorite beer in stock."

_Of course she did._ "Okay, Dragon. Next time I see you, I'd better get a hug."

"That sounds wonderful, Taylor. I can't wait."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

A gentle hand woke Taylor from her sleep. Her eyes snapped open to see a woman kneeling beside her. She had shoulder-length, almond-colored brown hair and eyes. Her face was pleasant and attractive without being unusually so. She wore a simple one-piece blue jumpsuit. Her smile looked pained and uncertain, her eyes cold and lifeless.

But within her, the Force blazed an almost painful joy.

Without a word, Taylor sat up in her bed, and then hugged Dragon.

"Thank you," the gynoid said. Her voice sounded patchy and rough. "I'm still working on subsystems, but...I can _feel_ this."

The body had no tear ducts. A system for tears was deemed by both to be an unnecessary extravagance. But Taylor had no doubt that if she had them, she would be crying at that moment.

"Have you seen Collin yet?"

The woman leaned back. "My expression algorithms are still off. I don't want to…"

"Dragon, _his_ expression algorithms are off. You wanted a body for yourself. But you wanted a fully functioning body for him."

Dragon didn't quite control her blush reflex. It made her whole face turn red. "It seemed important."

"Then you should go give it a try."

Dragon hugged her again. "I can't thank you enough for this, Taylor. A hundred million dollars doesn't even touch how much this means. Thank you!"

She stood, still clumsily, and walked stiffly from the room. Taylor had no doubt within six months she'd be moving perfectly. The hard part, though, was done.

It was almost seven in the morning. With a sigh, Taylor stepped into the shower. By the time she made it into the lounge of the guest wing, she found Scapetti already at the table eating scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, with a huge mug of black coffee.

"Made some for you," he said without looking up from his _Capes Weekly_ magazine.

She made her plate, sat down, and ate. Scapetti finished his own meal, chugged the coffee, and put down the magazine. "So, any word?"

Taylor grinned. "We can leave as soon as you're ready."

"You're just leaving your stuff?"

"Dragon paid for it," Taylor assured him. "The original price was for the body, but she doubled it when we realized the scope of the project."

"Where is she?"

Taylor stood and took their plates to the sink to wash up. "She's asked Armsmaster to assist her with a diagnostic of the new body."

The man stared at her a moment, then back through the walls where the server farm was. "Is that what they call it nowadays? Merry Christmas to all, I guess."

Taylor shrugged. "I call it a hundred million. You should treat me nicer, Scapetti. I'm actually richer than Sarah is, now."

He stared a moment, then laughed. "All that money, but you still can't legally buy a beer."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

One the one-year anniversary of her father's death and her trigger, Taylor walked down to the kitchen of her home to find Dinah cooking eggs. She made her eggs with a touch of cream and cheese, because that's how her mother taught her, and any suggestion of using the stored bacon grease in the kitchen was met with disdain or anger, depending on how serious the suggestion was.

"You're up early," Taylor noted.

Instead of answering, she poured the eggs on the plate, grabbed two pieces of toast as they popped up, as if timed perfectly with Taylor's arrive, and reached into the microwave for her favorite Johnny Don's maple-flavored breakfast sausage links. She put them on the plate and walked it to the table, where she put it at Taylor's place.

She didn't meet Taylor's eyes as she gathered a steaming cup of black breakfast tea and put it beside the plate with the carton of creamer. She then wordless hugged Taylor for a long moment.

Taylor woke up fine, she thought. She knew what day it was. She knew a year ago her father died and her old life ended. But she was also surrounded by a new family of her choosing, and had the respect of professional colleges and more money than she knew what to do with. Her therapy sessions were productive, and she had a promising career ahead of her. So she woke up fine.

Until this newly-turned 13-year-old hugged her, and she realized it wasn't fine.

Dinah didn't let go until the tears stopped. When she did, she quietly stepped to the counter to get her favorite bowl, with the Winnie the Pooh scene on the side, and filled it with Fruity-Os. Taylor said and wiped her eyes as she smiled. "Thanks."

Dinah shrugged. "Sarah's the only one who remembers. And she's a bitch."

The two Thinkers had a strange relationship—one of antagonistic adoration. They couldn't stand each other, and yet seemed drawn into constant verbal fights. While it could be fun watching them needle each other, it would also be draining for those who cared for them both.

Taylor ate her too-fluffy eggs with the gooey cheese, ate every bite of the microwavable sausage links (Dinah hated cooking anything that resulted in grease) and lathered her toast with raspberry jam.

And when she was done, Dinah said, "We're going to get a call today."

Taylor's stomach dropped a little. "Endbringer?" The last Endbringer was Behemoth. He attacked India while Taylor was in juvie and wiped out two million people.

Dinah shook her head. "S-class threat, 90 percent. Not an Endbringer. Not Slaughterhouse Nine." She shuddered a little mentioning them. "I'll warn the others."

"Should I stay home from school?"

"It's your first day of class," Dinah said. "If you skip without cause, it'll go on your record. Better to get the call."

"Right. Thanks for the warning."

Dinah nodded, then cracked a smile. She didn't smile much, not since she triggered. Like Taylor, she'd lost her parents and her family. She still had Triumph, who transferred with the PRT squad to live full time in the still under construction main building, but otherwise she was an orphan. It was her power and the power of the Protectorate that let her live full-time with Taylor and her friends.

"Do you need a ride to school?" Taylor asked.

"Rory's taking me," Dinah said between heaping spoons of sugary cereal. "He has to meet with my principal."

"Bullies?"

"Academic dishonesty, they said. They think I used my power to cheat on the state tests."

Taylor shook her head. "You could do what, maybe ten questions?"

"If I was lucky. It'll be okay. I'll see you later."

Taylor took her plate to the sink, rinsed it and put it in the dishwater to run later. She swung back around to give Dinah a hug. "Thank you for breakfast, sis."

"Welcome." Dinah didn't let anything show on her face, but Taylor had the advantage of feeling the surge of happiness. They were sisters in everything but blood.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor wished, more than anything, that she could drop out of school and just take the GED. Unfortunately, the terms of her probation and her emancipation required her to stay in school until she graduated. That was why Dinah warned her not to skip. Her attendance had a lot more riding on it than a normal student did.

That's why when the Spring semester started, Taylor took a full class load. She turned seventeen in June, and with summer classes, she fully intended to graduate early.

School was an exercise in patience and tolerance. It wasn't enough that she was an outed cape. Because of the hit piece the Atlanta News Network ran on her and Yuki, the school considered her to be a violent New Hampshire lesbian. Given that the last outed New Hampshire lesbian cape went on a crusade to emasculate every man in the Brockton Bay area (which ANN also did a story on, making comparisons as it to suggest Taylor might do the same thing), not even the LBGT kids in the school wanted anything to do with her.

She wore her red shades to blunt the effect her black eyes had on teachers, but she'd never been called on in class during her fall semester. As she walked in with the other students from the parking lot, she did so in a halo of space none of her fellow students wanted to violate.

She went through security and went straight to her first class.

The call came during third period. Her PRT phone had multiple tones-an Endbringer-like ring for those calls, and a wailing siren for other emergencies that required her attention. The volume was adjustable depending on the Ward's circumstances. Those Wards with civilian identities had phones that vibrated. Often calls would route through the principal's office as well.

In Taylor's case, her PRT phone began wailing in a siren-sound not so different than a firetruck. At the front of the class, Ms. Anderson jumped and dropped her chalk in alarm. "What is that?"

Taylor removed her PRT phone, saw the summons, and turned it off. "Sorry, Ms. Anderson, I've been called. I need to go."

The teacher didn't understand at first. "Called by whom?"

"PRT, ma'am. There's a situation in Chicago and my team's being deployed. PRT should be letting the principal know." She grabbed her back and jogged out of the room before the startled teacher could say anything.

She got back to the compound in good time. With PRT funding and a new headquarters, the road leading to Taylor's home had not only been resurfaced, but poured with reinforced concrete. That made it that much easier for Taylor to reach the headquarters. The vehicle bay was still under construction, but they already had living quarters set up. When she rode into the parking lot, she found Horizon already in her full tactical gear.

"We've got parahuman transport in ten," she reported.

Taylor ran inside to get ready.

She found Stanitz in the women's showers pulling on her own gear, while Laura Davis was inspecting the cape's gear. Flechette, Mujaji and Insight had all eschewed their normal Protectorate costumes to don the same tactical gear the rest of the team did. They looked as Taylor ran in.

Insight pointed to her locker. "Got the new holsters in there for you."

"Thanks!"

She quickly stripped out of her school clothes and began pulling on the armor weave body suit. The boots went over the pants and sealed at the calf. She her control vambraces, then the gauntlets. "Davis, what's the mission? Jumping or pounding?"

"Don't know for sure, but Horizon said plan for a jump," Scapetti's second said.

Taylor grabbed the jump-jet she'd designed herself-a hyper efficient chemical rocket that fueled itself with compressors, paired with repulsor coils. They topped out at forty klicks an hour, but could fly for a full day when the suit was power. Taylor noticed that Davis had the Disruptor sniper rifle Taylor finished just four weeks ago.

_A kill mission, then_.

When Davis was done making sure the other three capes were set, she came over and helped Taylor secure her own jump jet. She'd designed and crafted all of their tactical gear, quickly replacing the PRT standard suits for armor weave and the special modular body sleeves. The places on the back could be hooked up to four variant backpacks, including the jump jet.

"Details are coming in the briefing," Davis said softly. "But it's bad. They've authorized the big guns."

Taylor nodded somberly. "Our first full team deployment."

The older woman grinned tightly. "So, we'll just have to show them what we've got, yeah?"

"Yep."

With that, Taylor pulled on her weapons belt. Lightsabers, blaster pistols, three foam grenades and three thermal detonators. The belt felt heavy as she strapped in on over her hips. She noticed that despite their powers, the other capes were also armed. Insight had no offensive powers, so Taylor had designed a pair of small plasters that fit her hands perfectly, and another disruptor sniper rifle that she hooked on the side of her jump jet. She winced at the weight of it, but gave Taylor a thumb's up.

Mujaji's striker power involved lightning, so Taylor built her a flechette gun. It was a shotgun on an industrial scale, and could clear a large room with a single shot.

Flechette was a special case. For her Taylor designed a rifle that allowed Felchette to touch each bullet. It had the same sniper scope as Davis' and Insight's Disruptor, but didn't require the energy charge. In fact, the bullets themselves were standard NATO 7.62 caliber shells. It was Flechette's power that made them travel as far as she wanted, and to penetrate anything she wanted to hit.

They moved out of the locker room at a quick jog. When they reached the front of the building, they found the rest of the team already there. Triumph was in the same tactical gear as the rest. With the exception of the slim back domino mask, he didn't look any different from the PRT agents.

Campanile, though, was the one exception. His power made tactical gear pointless. Taylor had crafted a thin black and silver armor weave body suit for him that didn't quite call out his body shape as offensively as before. But he couldn't wear a helmet or weapons. On the other hand, in his breaker state he was powerful enough to tank a blow from Leviathan.

_At least once._

Reality tore. Taylor stifled a moan when she saw Strider appear with Alexandria. She saw the assembled team and nodded. "You're ready for your first deployment, Horizon?"

"Yes, ma'am," Horizon said with a firm nod.

"Then let's go. Legend's on site and will brief us there."

Taylor began concentrating on separating herself from the Force as much as she could. She was _not_ going to puke on her first official mission. Around her, the other capes and agents of their squad formed up, arms over each other's shoulders to reduce the amount of space Strider would have to cover.

"Remember, this is a no-puking flight," the man said.

"If I do, I'm aiming for your shoes," Taylor warned, a split second before the world tore itself away from her senses. It lasted only a split second, but it was a split second that seemed to cut the front part of her face off and send her mind reeling.

"You good?" Insight whispered.

Forcing a nod, Taylor said, "Yeah."

"JORD, with me," Alexandira said.

With the shock of the teleportation wearing off, Taylor was able to finally look around to see where they were. What she saw was a massive parking lot that had rows and rows of cars. They were walking toward a generic-looking single-story business with a red brick and glass front across the street from a row of apartments.

There were a line of buses and National Guardsmen desperately evacuating people. Inside the building were dozens and dozens of capes that Taylor didn't recognize, and a few she did. Chevalier was there, with Myrddin and Narwhal. Taylor bit back her nervousness. Though all three were on record as decrying her light sentence, she was now technically a Ward and on the same team.

Legend was there, though Eidolon was noticeably absent. The head of the Protectorate saw Alexandria and the team behind her and nodded somberly.

"Now that everyone's here, let's get started," Legend said. "Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of information because the situation went south quickly. What we do know as that at 9 AM this morning, 15-year-old Araceli Santiago was processed at the Warrenville Youth Center. She was under arrest for the murder of a 78-year-old man in his home. The prosecutor tried her as a youth due her age, the fact that she was six months pregnant and heavily addicted to methamphetamines. By 10 AM, every inmate and staff member at the Youth Center was dead, and these creatures were spilling out to all the surrounding area."

Behind him, the wall flashed white as something projected a high resolution image of a nightmare. It looked like a monster from a bad 80s sci-fi flick. A bipedal lump of fleshy slime dominated by a massive mouth lined in teeth, with a long, prehensile tongue.

"What we know is that this is not just a tool, it's a vector. If one of these creatures is able to break your skin, you will die and your body will become one. It is not a temporary effect. These are one bite, one-kill creatures. This is a Nilbog-level threat. Casualty estimates are already in the thousands."

_Which means there are thousands of these creatures_, Taylor realized.

The image turned to video. Insight stepped up beside Taylor, watching intently. "Like Overmind," she said aloud. "She retains control and awareness. She can see through them. See, there? One spotted that SWAT team, and twenty others attacked all at once."

Rather than stop her, Legend nodded for her to continue. "Insight, Thinker 8," he told the other assembled capes. "What else can you tell us?"

Insight shook her head. "I can tell you JORD's mission. You're sending us directly into the Youth Center. We'll have to hit hard and fast-the creatures will collapse in the moment the Master realizes we're there. But if we can take out the Master, that'll end the threat."

"What is JORD?" Chevalier asked.

"Joint Operation Reaction Deployment Team," Alexandria said. "A new unit out of Seattle that I helped form for just this type of situation."

Chevalier wore distinctive silver and gold armor in a neo-Renaissance fashion with a faceless helm. It made him look like the extra from a 50s period piece. But he used his striker-power to fashion what he called a cannon-blade that was no laughing matter. Though she couldn't see his face, Taylor could sense his eyes on her. She met his gaze squarely, not bothering with a mask.

"Quintessence?" It sounded more like a statement than a question. Her name raised a stir from the other capes in the room.

Alexandria nodded. "Quintessence has the ability, among other things, to grant limited pre-cog to an entire theatre. This leads to a demonstrable increase in unit cohesiveness that you, yourself, witnessed both against Overmind and Leviathan last year. We built JORD around that ability. This is their first formal deployment."

"The rest of us?" Taylor was surprised to see the same all-metal Ward that she saw against Leviathan. Weld. "What're our roles?

"The rest of you are to buy time to evacuate civilians," Legend said. "Every civilian that falls becomes a weapon for Scylla, the bio-striker and master. The JORD team will deploy by air drop directly onto the facility. All of you, this is an S-Class threat and all restrictions are off. You are to take any and all action necessary. We cannot allow this plague to reach Chicago proper. The president has authorized air strikes if we are unable to contain the threat."

Insight was whispering to Alexandria. "How much info on the building can you give us?"

"Pads are in the transport with building blueprints," Alexandria said. "Will you be deploying?"

Taylor looked at Insight. "You're no good to us dead, Insight. We'll need your mind, you can see through our cams."

"Agreed," Horizon said. "Insight will stay at HQ for tactical oversight. There rest of you, load up and get ready. It's time to go kill some monsters."


	44. Monsters and Lullabies

A/N: Welcome to your latest Tuesday post. I'm hopeful some parts of the country open up soon. I need a haircut like no one's business. As for this chapter-Scylla was originally conceived as a crises during Taylor's incarceration. However, it was such a dark and crushing scene that it derailed the redemption arc I was going for. So instead I used it as a means of showing just how good JORD was. I hope it works for you.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Four: Monsters and Lullabies**

The National Guard loaned them a _Chinook_ helicopter. As the loud vehicle lifted into the air, rattling them as they went, Taylor reaffirmed her decision to start work on her own VTOL craft. She had designs in her head for a shuttle that could have transported the team from Seattle to Chicago in 20 minutes and hover silently as long as they needed.

Still, the twin-rotor craft was more than large enough to fit the entire team of sixteen, one of whom was eight feet tall. They all had their helmets on so they could go over the plans using the helmet's HUD features. All save Campanile, who held a computer tablet in his hands.

"_The only reason Alexandria didn't go in herself is because we think Hecate is trying to hide," _Insight was saying over their quantum-locked coms_. "Nilbog did the same thing, using a fake body to lure the attacking capes and PRT agents into a trap that ended up getting almost a thousand people killed. Quintessence, you're telepathy is our best chance at identifying the threat."_

"Understood," Taylor said.

"_Campanile, I called the Oracle and got a 89% on whether your skin can withstand a bite from one of those things in your breaker state. With your new expandable armorweave, that goes up to mid-90s. There's a risk, but I think you'd best serve the team as our distraction."_

"Gotchya," the man said calmly. He rarely let his excitement or nervousness show. "Stay big and squash as many of the things as I can. Should I lead them anywhere?"

"_Fermilab is in the north, Chicago is to the east, and there are suburbs and shopping centers all around us,"_ Insight said. _"The best bet is just keep them in the area. Alexandria and the other brutes will do the same."_

"We're going to stay together," Scapetti said. "Standard box formation. This mission is dependent on Quintessence finding the target. Our job will be keeping the monsters off her back until she does. Mujaji is our tank. Flechette is a point kill and Triumph our floor sweeper. The rest of you-if things go south we'll find ourselves in a target rich environment. Quintessence's new blasters have been authorized for deployment. They have a hundred rounds per cannister. Save rounds as much as you can, we have no idea for sure how many we'll have."

"_We are over target area,"_ one of the two pilots announced.

The ramp at the back of the massive two-rotor helicopter opened up. Campanile stood, but had to lean over to be able to walk. He looked out the ramp. "What's the word?" he called back on coms over the numbing noise of the rotors.

Horizon looked to Taylor, who closed her eyes and reached out into the Force. She gasped at the _rage_ she felt burning all around her. But the main concentration of it didn't come from below.

"She's not there!" Taylor called. "I can feel her, but it's distant. Pilot, turn to 11 o'clock and go slow."

The pilot, who was also on their com system, turned the helicopter. Taylor moved toward the back ramp, kneeling down beside Campanile. "What are you feeling?" he asked.

"Rage. Pain. Sadness. I can feel it from every one of the monsters. She's in every one, just like Insight said." She closed her eyes and reached out, following the feelings. "There. What is that place?"

She pointed to a massive, sprawling structure. "Looks like a mall," Campanile said. "I can see the Dillard Clothing Store sign."

Taylor stood and tapped her arm vambrace to chance her channel. "This is Quintessence to all Protectorate. I am sensing the subject in a mall two miles northwest of the youth center. JORD will deploy there."

Horizon, her face hidden behind her helmet, chimed in. "This is Horizon, confirming. Map says it's the Warrenville North Mall."

"_JORD, this is Legend. Acknowledged, subject is at Warrenville North Mall. Good luck!"_

"Campanile, get to stomping!" Horizon called.

He grinned, and then jumped out of the _Chinook_. He wore neither a parachute nor a jump jet. Taylor watched him free fall for almost twenty seconds. By the time he slammed into the parking lot, he was thirty feet tall and nearly impervious. They watched as what had previously been an empty parking lot suddenly began swarming with the little round monsters.

Thousands of them.

"Shit, those fuckers move fast," Callister said. The red-head sound shaken.

"Then we'd better find the target quick," Scappeti noted.

The helicopter continued until they were directly over the mall. "Here," Taylor said.

Instantly the entire team was on their feet. Mujaji took the rear, with Triumph and Flechette in the middle with Oversight and Taylor at the lead, with Scapetti's PRT agents forming walls on either side. The Chinook was large enough to let them all jump out in that exact formation.

They only fell free for a few seconds before their repulsor coils slowed their descent. They hung on to each other, with three separate hands clasped onto Taylor's jump jet. The whole team fired their jets just for a split second, following Quintessence's lead, until they landed gently on the roof on one side of the mall.

"HQ, this is Horizon. We've landed. Going internal coms only. Out."

"_Acknowledged. God speed, JORD."_

Taylor knelt down and placed her hand on the ceiling. "She doesn't know we're here yet," Taylor said. She stood and walked toward the outer wall of the structure with the team right behind her until she reached a spot furthest from any of the little balls of hatred.

"Here's the cleanest spot I can find," Taylor said.

"Roger. Make a hole."

Taylor's lightsaber snapped to life. She stabbed the blade down all the way to the hilt. After she made her first cut, Scappette shot a silenced grappled hook into the gravel and asphalt roof surface. He braced his feet as Tso and Hollis grabbed him for more support. When Taylor finished cutting, the section of the roof dropped suddenly, making all three men grunt at the effort of keeping it from hitting the floor below.

With her saber stored, Taylor levitated the cut section up and out, relieving them of the weight. Mujaji came forward, lifted effortlessly off her feet, and sank down into the hole just like in their drills.

"Clear!"

The rest of the team followed, using their repulsor coils to turn a fifteen-foot drop into a simple step. All around them they saw mannequins wearing the latest fashions at only 20% off heavily inflated prices if they bought before January 31!

They quickly reformed in the middle of an aisle. On her helmet HUD, a map of the mall suddenly appeared via the quantum link all their helmets shared. They were silent with HQ, but not Insight. "_A local tinker specializing in surveillance gear gave a thermal scanner to Dragon. From what we can tell, there's a massive concentration of the creatures in the sublevel of the mall directly under the Cole's. Patching through the feed now."_

"Acknowledged," Horizon said.

Thermal spots popped up on the map. They could see themselves with startling, impossible clarity. They also saw monsters spread throughout the mall, just standing around.

"Quintessence, can you do a box cloak?"

Taylor nodded. "Bring it in close."

Fifteen people clumped together as they tightly could, moving Taylor back until she was squeezed in the middle. She sank herself into the Force and then pushed the suggestion of their insignificance out around them. "Okay, we're good. Let's go."

The encountered the first monster at the base of the deactivated escalator. It stood in the middle of a pool of still fresh blood. Despite the risk, Taylor led them on the other escalator, still clumped as tightly as they could, and walked right by the monster.

They saw dozens more, all of which stood in or near bloody pools that marked the death of a person and the birth of a monster.

They had to slow when they reached the main atrium of the mall. The monsters were everywhere, spread in a strangely even formation across every surface. The floors glistened with blood and gibbets of discarded flesh so thickly that it was impossible not to walk on it.

Horizon took the lead, clutching her blaster carbine with Scapetti and Davis on either side. They moved at an agonizingly slow rate as they twisted their way through the maze of monsters. According to the map, the Coles was clear on the other side of the mall. As much as Taylor wanted to just kick on her jumpjet and get their quickly, she couldn't extend her obfuscation in the Force over that many people spread that far out.

So, as her headache began to mount, they moved slowly over the treacherous, blood-slicked floor of the mall.

"_This is Campanile," _the giant changer's voice came on an open channel. "_Request emergency evac. I'm hitting my limit and I've got about thousand of these things trying to give me a colonoscopy." _

"_Campanile, Alexandria is en route. Hold up your hands and clench your cheeks."_

The channel went silent again. None of the sound escaped the insulated helmets of Taylor's design. They continued on, reaching a giant T-intersection. Down one side was the Abella's Camping and Outdoor store, dominating two floors of one end, and Coles dominating two floors of the other. And between them?

The mass of monsters was so dense Taylor could neither count nor even sense their number. Thousands were pressed together forming a barricade across the front of the ground floor, with even more on the second.

"Mujaji, can you bring the thunder and open a hole?" Horizon asked softly.

"I can. If you want me to keep the hole open I'm going to have to stay out here."

"Can you do it?"

"Watch me, boss."

"Okay. Team, behind pillar three. Mujaji, stay with us until my mark."

Taylor was gritting her teeth with concentration and couldn't afford to talk, but it was a good plan. As their resident Alexandria package, Mujaji was in the least amount of danger. As long as the monsters were not able to get to her face, they couldn't hurt her at all. The team made their way to the pillar in question, only for Stanitz to see the sheered off, upper torso of a little boy who couldn't have been more than six. Her boot came down with a squelch on the little boy's torn intestine, making her lose her feet.

"Mujaji, go! The rest stay in formation!"

As the monsters began to stir, alerted by the squelching sound, the young heroine lifted out of their unit, flew into the air, and called the thunder.

The ceiling overhead shattered as two thick, blinding streaks of lightning slammed down into the most dense parts of the monsters. The accompanying thunder strike shattered glass walls and windows throughout that wing of the mall.

The mall shook with the accompanying roar as thousands upon thousands of monsters spilled out of every store front around, jumping with terrifying speed into the air as they launched themselves at Mujaji.

She grabbed one by the legs and used it to bat others away, laughing at being completely free to fight as she needed. She quickly flew back away from the Coles, firing another of her massive, almost uncontrolled lightning and thunder blasts against another carpet before turning a corner out of sight. The remaining team watched in numbed awe as the monsters continued to pour out of the store in unbelievable numbers. Finally, the flow trickled away to nothing.

Horizon motioned them to go, and they started forward toward the entrance.

With Insight guiding them from afar, Horizon was able to get the team through the front portion of the Coles until they reached a utility hall just past Boy's clothing.

"Wait," Taylor hissed. "The hall is full. Three dozen, at least."

"_Shit_," Insight said. "_That's the only direct access_."

Taylor was about to say something else when a straight though wondered into her mind. A line from a song, sung in Spanish. _Duérmete mi niño_

"She's directly under us," Taylor said as her stomach dipped. "I think...twelve feet down. It's an open space."

"_Loading dock_," Insight affirmed. "_What are you thinking?"_

"I'm thinking Thermal Detonators and weapons hot," Taylor said.

Taylor couldn't see Horizon's face, but she could feel the older woman's fear. But also her determination. "Scapetti?"

"We're good to go weapons hot."

Horizon nodded. "Schertz, Tso and Callister, set your thermal detonators for 60 seconds. Drop them where we stand, then we retreat. You give the mark."

The three men quietly pulled their tinker-style grenades, set the variable timers, and then dropped them all at once. "Mark!"

Still under Taylor's straining field, the team moved quickly away from the three highly explosive devices. One minute later, all three went off.

Thermal detonators were not grenades. They were essentially a fuel air bomb inside a fully contained magnetic shield that expanded to a set perimeter. These were set at ten meters each. They expanded into a white hall of phosphorescent plasma that instant consumed everything within its affected radius of ten meters. The combined effect expanded that almost to forty.

Abruptly the exotic explosion ended, resulting in a massive hole in the floor, a missing stair well and ceiling, and a cacophony roaring monsters.

"Weapons hot and go!"

The whole team jumped through right into the center of a mass of gooey and partially vaporized monsters. The PRT agents formed up fire walls on either side of the capes, their blasters firing in rapid bursts of energy. Each bolt of red hyper-accelerated participles punched through the body of a monster in a shower of bloody gore. When the bodies piled too high, Triumph stepped forward, opened the adjustable mandible of his helmet, and _shouted_.

His sonic shout _pulped_ the bodies and sent showers of goo flying back among the still on-coming monsters. Random explosions shot up from the floor of the loading dock where Horizon applied her own striker power. Flechette wasn't bothering with her own striker power, instead employing another blaster carbine. They moved in a single unit toward where Taylor sensed the strongest concentration of hate, pain and anguish.

_Duérmete mi niño. _

She saw nothing but monsters. Through her helmet, she saw nothing but a sea of thermal mass. But in her mind, the lullaby rang out loudly.

_Where was she?_

This was why Alexandria didn't just come in and begin killing monsters. This was why Nilbog still lived despite capes that could vaporize mountains. The truly dangerous capes were the ones with cunning _and_ brutal ruthlessness. Scylla, as they named her, was hiding behind her monsters somehow.

Abruptly a sharp stab of pain shot through her mind, accompanied by a gurgling scream through their quantum-locked cams.

"Martin's down_!" _Scapetti said. He didn't shout, but she could sense tension and loss in his voice. "Someone grab his fucking ammo before he turns_!"_

"On it," Horizon said. "Who's lowest?"

"I'm down two," Callister said.

"Make 'em count. Quintessence, where are we?"

"Close! I can sense her, she's in the room somewhere."

"Hold." Behind Taylor, she could sense Horizon kneeling down on the ground. The team leader of the JORD had three separate perception-based Thinker powers. She could zoom her vision out to process multiple scenes at the same time; she could focus on an individual organism mass to see the internal workings in detail; or she could see through inorganic material.

"Quintessence, your ten o'clock, fifty feet under the surface."

Taylor narrowed her senses to that section of the dimly lit garage.

...Q_ue tengo que hacer_

"On me!" Taylor said. She slapped her blaster to her holster, held out both hands, and pushed with the Force as strongly as she could. Those monsters charging the sudden gap in the fire pulped, those behind them blasted backward. Triumph jumped to her side and _shouted_, clearing an even broader path.

The whole team moved as one with a coordination made possibly only by her subconscious battle meditation. Taylor felt another of their PRT members die screaming and tried not to think on it. Fifty feet behind them, another hole suddenly blasted open in the ceiling, revealing first a pillar of light, and then an explosion of lightning that made their face shields darken briefly, and a numbing crack of thunder.

Mujaji brought the thunder, blasting the creatures left and right. Even so, the density of the monsters seemed to increase even as Taylor and Triumph continually blasted a clear path. Abruptly the floor ended in cracked pavement. Rough earth replaced it. Triumph screamed again, clearing one more path, and in that moment Taylor's eyes locked onto the source of the monsters.

Dark eyes stared at Taylor. They had turned yellow, almost like the Sith of old in Taylor's mind. She could feel in the Force how the girl's power stripped away Taylor's armor and mask. She couldn't even see it, only the flesh of Taylor's body.

She sat in the dirt with her legs spread. Blood covered the lower part of her body. She held a writhing abomination in her arms and rocked it gently, as if it were a baby.

_It was._ For a moment, Taylor almost threw up. It took all her will and the Force not too, because in that one moment Taylor _knew_ Araceli. She felt buffeted by a constant litany of pain, anguish and hatred. The girl's entire life was a nightmare easily a thousand times worse than what Yuki went through. She dealt with it by becoming one of the monsters herself. She attacked and hurt all she could. When she shot the old man who tried to keep her and her crew from stealing his car, she felt nothing but satisfaction. The old fuck deserved to die. He had everything; she had nothing. He deserved to die for having what she wanted.

Underneath it all, though, Taylor sensed a small, crushed memory that informed the core of the cape now known as Scylla. Little Araceli, holding her baby brother in her arms and singing _Duermete, mi nino _just like her mama sang to her before her Dad beat mama to death.

Araceli always wanted a baby. More than anything else, she wanted to recapture that one, tiny moment of peace, when she held pure innocence in her arms. Instead, the world gave her a monster, a tiny body riddled with rotting sores from the methamphetamines that rifled through her own body. A deformed, monstrous thing that bit and transformed everyone around her into more monsters. And more. They were all her children now. She was the mother of the world.

Looking into the dark eyes of this grinning child the world had destroyed, Taylor knew for a fact that Araceli Santiago would never be contained. She would gladly watch the world burn.

Taylor took a step closer. "_Duérmete mi niño, que tengo que hacer_," she sang, her lips moving in perfect time with Aracelis.

The monsters around them stopped attacking, shuffling as Taylor's telepathy smothered Araceli's.

The twisted eyes latched onto Taylor's as the newly-made monster continued the song. "_Lavar los pañales, y hacer de comer."_

Taylor felt her own eyes burning. "I'm sorry, Araceli. _Lo lamento._"

Aracelli screamed and thrust out both her blood-caked hands. Every monster in the mall roar and charged all at once.

The charge stopped before they could breach the JORD field of fire. They stopped when Taylor reached out her hand, focused with the Force, and snapped the fourteen-year-old girl's neck. Araceli's body went instantly slack as she first slumped over onto her bed, and then tumbled off into the muck on the floor.

Without her power, the monsters collapsed to the ground. They were not separate beings, only extensions of Aracelli's own madness.

"It's over," Taylor said. It wasn't until she spoke that she realized she was sobbing within her helmet.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Legend handed Taylor a warm glass.

The rest of the JORD team had their helmets off and were sitting around with stunned expressions. Of the ten PRT members who went into the field, only eight returned. LaMarcus Martin was only six years older than Taylor. He'd joined the PRT right out of college and was engaged to be married.

Jan Stanitz was almost thirty. Her wife had just moved to Seattle from Los Angeles when they decided JORD was going to be a long-term assignment.

Taylor sipped the tea, only to blink at the strong bite of brandy within. She looked up at the leader of the Protectorate who smiled sadly at her. "I heard a rumor you can sober yourself up," he said.

They were in a classroom in an adult education center a few miles south of the mall. PRT containment teams and National Guardsmen were already in the process of collecting the bodies of monsters-monsters who used to be human.

Just from those in the mall, Taylor realized that Araceli had killed not just hundreds or thousands, but tens of thousands. In just the few hours of her existence as a cape, she'd killed as many people as Nilbog had over the past five years.

"Insight has already shared your body cam data with Alexandria and Watchdog," Legend said. He used a gentle tone-like dad did when Taylor was little and scraped her knee. The memory startled her-she went to mother to get the scrapes treated, but for some reason it was always dad who comforted her when she was little. He'd hold her on his lap and rock her until she stopped crying.

"She triggered during a stillbirth," Taylor said. "Her power turned the stillbirth into the vector for her power."

"Martin turned in ten seconds." Horizon came and sat beside Taylor, placing a hand on her back. "I barely had time to get the ammo cannister off before he became another monster."

Legend nodded. "That's how she spread so fast."

"They were her," Taylor said. "She didn't just see through them-they contained a part of her consciousness. Her power let her control them all at the same time. There wasn't a limit, I don't think. She could have kept spreading out forever, until the whole world was converted."

"How did you locate her?"

Horizon looked as exhausted and wrecked as Taylor. "Quintessence narrowed down the area. I used my inorganic perception to locate where in the floor she'd dug her nest. It took both of us to locate her."

"At the end, the monsters didn't attack," Legend noted.

Taylor pulled off her gauntlets and rubbed tears from her cheeks. "Her power echoed through a spanish lullaby. A children's song. I hijacked it long enough to get a clear view of her."

"Then you executed the kill order."

"I snapped her neck with my telekinesis, yeah."

The older man winced. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have been in that…"

"Yes, I should have," Taylor said sharply. "Horizon and I had the best synergy of powers to locate her, otherwise you and Alexandria could have handled it by yourselves. Yes, it sucks. I'm sixteen and I just executed a fourteen-year-old. I know why you hate it. I do too. But it had to be me. It had to be Horizon, and this team. We're the best you have, and today proved it. That's why you're going to increase our charter and double our personnel. That's why you're going to release me from the Wards and allow me to join the Protectorate as a full member despite my age."

Around the room, Taylor could feel her teammates sitting up to watch the exchange. She wasn't done, though.

"The world is dying, Legend. You know it as well as I do. What does my age matter, if it comes crashing down? We're the best you have, and we're going to continue to fight for what's left of the world as long as we can."

The head of the Protectorate looked from her to Horizon. From Mujaji to Flechette and Triumph, then to the eight determined agents that finished their team. "You're right," Legend said at last. "You are the best we have. What you did today will show the nation, and the world."

He stood and looked at them all. "You'll get your funding and personnel. We'll have to wait until you're seventeen for full Protectorate status-that's a federal law I can't change. But Alexandria, myself and Chief Director Costa-Brown don't make a distinction. You saved the nation, today. Hundreds of thousands of people are alive because of you. Thank you all."

After he walked out of the room, Scapetti slapped his hand on a desk. "I need a fucking beer and a burger."

"Me too," Taylor said.

"You're buying, right? Being so rich and all?"

Taylor's voice cracked as she laughed. "I can't buy beer yet, remember?"


	45. Turning

A/N: Chap 44 review responses in my forums as normal. With this chapter, we have finally reached the beginning of the end. There are only four more chapters and a short epilogue. As promised, posting will continue on Saturdays and Tuesday evenings until complete.

Thank you for reading.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Five: Turning**

His name was Craig. Craig Sanchez. He was a senior, and had ambitions to play soccer before blowing out his knee his junior year and realizing that there was more to life than sports. He enjoyed playing video games and watching soccer games from around the world.

He also enjoyed reading, dancing and building toy models. He had models of every airplane and jet to ever fly, including some of Dragon's suits, hanging on strings from his ceiling. And in her year of attending high school in Seattle, he was the only boy who had ever asked her out on a date. He was the only boy who didn't look at her in fear. Instead, he looked at her with fascination and, if she were honest, more than a little lust. He was handsome, intelligent, and as far as her telepathy could tell, kind.

And as of five minutes ago, he was her first lover since Yuki.

_So why didn't she feel anything?_

The act itself felt...good. More than good, if she were honest. He was a little more experienced than her, and more importantly, considerate of what she wanted. He was as good a lover as she could have asked for.

But as he curled beside her with a contented murmur, spent and satiated, she stared up at his models and realized that she didn't love him. She liked him, and even lusted after him as well, but after the itch was scratched sufficiently, nothing else remained.

It took barely a thought to send him into a deeper slumber. He wasn't even dreaming. She sat up and stared down at him-he was still lithe and strong from his last semester of soccer, but his dad had a pretty huge belly and she had a feeling in time, removed from his sport, he would develop one too. She knew that when he called and said his family was out of town.

She knew what he was hoping for when she rode her motorcycle over. She wanted it too, and didn't regret a moment with him. But now, staring at him, she was at a loss for what she wanted next.

She stood and padded into his _en suite_ bathroom. He moved into a former in-law suite when his grandmother died two years back. The bathroom, like the rest of his home, was modest but clean. His parents were both public employees-his dad with the City Utilities, while his mother was a police dispatch operator.

A good family. A good kid. Everything a girl could want in a boyfriend. Unless that girl was a cape.

Sighing, Taylor stared at her reflection. The woman in the mirror resembled the Taylor of old only in the general shape of her face. She now wore her hair shoulder-length to better fit her tactical helmet. She'd lost her baby fat, which changed the shape of her face, and put on muscle through a solid year of drilling and seven deployments. She would never be beautiful like Mujaji or Insight, but the closer she came to looking like her mother, the prettier she thought she was. At least she'd grown into her mouth.

"Happy birthday, Taylor," she whispered. She was now seventeen years old, and as of two weeks ago, a high school graduate.

She took advantage of Craig's shower before getting dressed quickly. Coming back out, her boyfriend for the past three months had rolled onto his back, snoring gently from a deviated septum. She sank down on the bed and felt a stinging in her eyes as she realized what she was going to do.

Blinking, she leaned over to kiss him. He had very soft lips for a man, she thought. Softer than Yuki's. His almond-colored eyes snapped open and he grinned like an excited puppy. "Heya, beautiful," he whispered.

"Heya back, pretty boy," she said. She placed a hand on his bare chest-it was so smooth he must have waxed it. "Listen, I...I received a message from one of my team."

His eyes widened and he sat up. "Cape stuff? Are you safe?"

"I am, yeah. But...Craig, there are some pretty rough capes that would love to take me out. You know I've asked we keep this on the down-low because of it. But Insight just...the Elite knows I'm dating. They don't know for sure who, yet, but if we keep going, they will."

"What does that mean?"

The worst part of being telepathic was she knew that he knew _exactly_ what she meant, but hurt so bad he needed her to say it. She leaned forward and kissed him again, because he _deserved_ to hear her say it.

"You were the first boyfriend I've ever had," she said. "You were perfect. But I just can't…. I _can't_ put you at risk. They'd use you to get to me. I'm sorry, but… I think we need to end this."

"I don't care!" he said, his cheeks flushing with anger. "I don't care if I'm in danger, I can take care of myself!"

"I know, Craig. But could your sister? Could your parents? That's how the Elite works. Believe me, I know. The nice ones try to recruit you, but their enforcers will hurt anyone to make you do what they want."

The idea of his family being hurt chased his angry flush away. "Was...was it good?"

_Damn it._ She laughed bitterly and wiped away a tear. "It was perfect, Craig. That's...that's why it sucks I can't stay. Just...be safe. Find a girl that won't get you or your family killed, and be happy. Just be happy for me."

He couldn't find any words to say as she walked out of his room, down the stairs of his home, and out the front door.

When she got home, she found only Sarah in the house. She took one look at Taylor's face, then shared a sad grin. "Me or Dinah?"

"I pinned it on you," Taylor said grumpily.

Insight sighed, opened her mouth, then stopped. She couldn't help, and anything she said would only make it worse. They both knew the Sarah of a year ago wouldn't have been able to stop herself.

Taylor hugged her, recognizing the struggle to not be a bitch that her friend had to go through almost daily, and went upstairs. She didn't get half-way up before Horizon burst into the house. "Suit up, we've got a briefing in ten!" she called.

Rather than be upset, Taylor clung to the distraction for all it was worth.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Ten minutes later, Taylor watched as a disheveled man with a shock of unkept gray hair sat in the driver's seat of an old VW van. He was smoking a poorly rolled joint with hands that shook with palsy. He parked in the dirt and gravel parking lot of a small church, unconcerned with the tank-sized, six-legged, acid-spitting tentacle beast that was slowly ripping the arms off a screaming, three-year-old girl not twenty feet from the VW.

"Pause, please," Taylor said.

The footage came to a halt.

In the new briefing room of the now expanded Joint Operational Rapid Deployment Team headquarters, Taylor turned to see how Dinah was taking the footage. The thirteen-year-old looked pale, but met Taylor's gaze solidly. The rest of their team looked sicker than she did.

Daymore, sitting beside one of their new recruits, looked as if he were going to be sick. "Who the f…hell is that guy?"

Dragon turned on the lights. Taylor noted that just in the six months since she'd had her body, she'd already adjusted and refined her programming sufficiently that her movement seemed almost completely natural. If Taylor watched her eyes enough, she did notice that the gynoid blinked every ten seconds, six times a minute without exception.

When confronted with a particularly vexing situation, she tended to go still. In a human, it might be considered freezing, but with Dragon it was a reallocation of processing power from her body. She and Taylor were already talking about an autonomic secondary node in her neck to govern the appearance of bodily functions.

Still, the overall effect was of a reasonably attractive woman with shoulder-length oak-colored hair, elegant brows and a slight blush to her cheeks that she could vary by up to 40% whenever she and Defiant spoke privately. And with the joint Guild/Protectorate nature of the JORD team, she was a frequent visitor. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy briefing them in person whenever she found new information.

"Dr. William Manton," Dragon announced with a slightly elevated blush to her cheeks and a 10% increase in her diaphragm movement.

"Holy shit," Insight said.

"Don't cuss, bitch," Mujaji said. "There's kids present."

"That's right!" Daymore said, having almost slipped earlier.

Dinah turned around in her seat. "You know she was talking about you, right?"

Daymore fell out of his chair as if shot, while the others abruptly laughed.

"Jeeze, Daymore, how many does that make now?" Davis muttered. "You got any skin left after all those burns?"

Taylor couldn't help but feel grateful to the young pre-cog for breaking the mood after watching the death of Dunning, Nebraska, at the hands of the Slaughterhouse Nine. She left her own seat to join Insight in front of the monitor.

"Are we talking the same guy who discovered the Manton limit?" Taylor asked.

"Yes," Dragon said. "We're 94% positive it's him, despite reports of his death to the contrary."

"Oh, it's him," Sarah said, before cursing again. "Dragon, do we have any images of his daughter, before she disappeared?"

"I see where you're going," Dragon said. She brandished a small remote, a hint of a smile as she manipulated the device with her fingers, rather than through direct neural interfaces. Taylor knew that Dragon enjoyed the little physical interactions with her world more than anything.

The screen switched to show an attractive young blonde, maybe sixteen or so, in a bikini at the beach.

Using the keyboard at the briefing podium, Dragon next brought up another image for a side-by-side comparison. The image of the Siberian was taken by the same one of Defiant' s probes that captured Manton smoking.

With some quick digital magic, Dragon removed the black and white stripes, overlaying a natural skin tone and adding blonde hair. In fact, she was copying from the old picture of Manton's daughter.

"Force," Taylor whispered. "The Siberian is…what, a projection? Manton's a master?"

"Master 12, I'd bet money on it," Sarah said. "That explains so much. It's why she can violate not just some, but all the laws of physics. It's why she's unstoppable, even to Eidolon and Alexandria. God, could you imagine what Manton could do to Leviathan, Behemoth or the Simurgh? Instead, he sits in a church parking lot getting high while his projection and her friends murder children."

Scapetti joined them. "So, we take Manton out. What about Crawler? We don't have anything that could take him."

"Trap him," Taylor said. "I've already been thinking about him. A series of repulsor coils and forcefields. Get him contained in something non-physical and off the ground so he can't use his strength. Then we strap him into a rocket and shoot him into the sun."

"You can do that?" Scapetti asked.

She gave him a flat look. "You have a jetpack and coils that let you fly a hundred miles an hour."

He shrugged. "You're the not-a-tinker," he said with a sing-song voice. "This is big, though. The Siberian has even beaten Alexandria."

"It's what the team was created for," Taylor noted.

"We still can't go after the Nine without approval," Scapetti answered. "The collateral is always too high."

"Still, the whole thing is weird," Sarah said. "No one has seen or heard of Manton in years. Why now? If he's seen, he wants to be seen."

"The Nine have had unusual behavior lately," Dragon said. "Mannequin has always specifically targeted Tinkers, but in the past four months they've changed from killing them to abducting them. They even attacked Brockton Bay again last month."

"Who'd they grab?" Taylor asked with the morbid curiosity of someone who would never go back to that town again.

"Squealer and a new Tinker named Chariot. Kid Win managed to escape only because Defiant happened to be there, and Legend provided back up. However, with previous attempts they now have ten tinkers."

"So, they're up to something," Taylor said. "Trap or not, this is too big an opportunity to miss. We need to decide."

Horizon stepped up beside Scapetti. She had her phone in hand, scowling. "We may not have to. Alexandria and Legend are both their way."

"What?" Taylor asked.

Their team lead held up her phone. "This information came straight from Washington. Costa-Brown said Legend and Alexandria wanted to speak to us. They'll be here in a few minutes. They want to talk to you, Quintessence. Alone."

Sarah looked a little shell-shocked, but only for the length of time it took her to process through the various reasons why the two leaders of the Protectorate would be coming at that moment. Then her countenance turned furious.

"Those fuckers knew," she said, almost choking on the words.

Dragon reduced her blush until she paled, as if absorbing a shock. "That's a provocative statement, Insight."

Taylor allowed her eyes to drift to Manton, smoking in his van, while hell played out around him. "They know," she said. "But I don't think that's why they're coming. Horizon, you're team lead. If you want to be there, I'm fine with it."

The older woman shrugged. "I'm your team leader, but they're the generals. Remember, though, even though you're full Protectorate now you're still under 18. We can always bring in the Youth Guard if they try to pressure you into anything."

"When have they had to pressure me?" Taylor asked.

The last two Endbringer fights Taylor might have helped with were Simurgh and Behemoth. However, the Simurgh attacked an airliner over the Pacific Ocean. As always, Eidolon was there to fight her, with Legend and Alexandria reaching the plane shortly after. But it was for nothing—the whole incident took only moments. She crushed the hull of the airliner, killing all 200 passengers in a split second, before returning to orbit.

Taylor was ready to deploy, along with Mujaji, Flechette and Insight, but they never had the opportunity.

The next was Behemoth in North Korea. He set off the small, rogue nation's burgeoning nuclear arsenal (an arsenal provided by the Chinese Imperial Union) within ten minutes. There was nothing left for anyone to defend. Taylor read that the nuclear fallout had covered much of the southeastern Asian continent and reached as far west as Europe and North Africa.

The only members of the team that weren't ready to help with Endbringers were Campanile, because his mother ordered him not to, and Triumph and Dinah. Because Triumph was Dinah's legal guardian, they all agreed as a team that he needed to stay to protect her.

"I think I'll be okay," Taylor assured Horizon, when she decided to meet the two Protectorate leaders alone.

She left her teammates using the back entrance from the briefing room and walked down the hall of their admin offices. Amanda Calhoun was fast at work, organizing shipments for Taylor's lab, food for the cafeteria and trying to force through the hazardous duty bonus Horizon authorized for Scapetti's team during their operation Tampa.

Taylor took the spiral staircase to the second floor instead of the elevator, and walked out onto the reinforced landing pad. She had her first atmospheric jitney done, and a second just a day away from deployment. Taylor was tired of Strider.

Legend arrived first; though he had to cross the country from New York, he could go the speed of light if he pushed himself. Alexandria arrived moments later. The two leaders of American heroes just stood studying her for a long time.

Legend broke the silence. "You're looking well, Quintessence. All healed from Tampa?"

"Yes, sir," Taylor said. "I'm assuming you'd like someplace private to talk?"

"We have some place in mind already," Alexandria said. "Door."

Taylor sank herself into the Force with a mental cantrip, using it to calm herself as a dimensional portal opened right behind the two senior capes. Beyond was a long, unremarkable corridor with smooth, featureless white walls as recessed lighting set in the ceiling above.

Alexandria spared her just a hint of a smile before turning and leading the way through the portal. Taylor followed, and Legend brought up the rear. Her ears popped at the sudden change of air pressure. But it was the sensation in the Force that made her stumble and then fall to her knees, gasping.

"Quintessence?" Alexandria said. Her voice sounded distant—a fragile, hopeless beating in the sudden, cloying darkness that crowded around her in the Force.

_Leviathans move upon the deep. She could have covered her eyes and ears, wrapped her head in a thousand blankets and hidden in the deepest hole, and still she would see them. _

_Larger than planets and yet able to perch on the head of a pin, the leviathans move through the void at speeds beyond imagination. They warp not just space but dimensions and time itself with the ease a man would have walking down the sidewalk. Behind them is only the vast emptiness of intergalactic void, ahead the sparkling hope of energy and life. A spiral galaxy, pristine and untouched._

**DESTINATION**.

**AGREEMENT**.

_Not words. Not thoughts. Billions of minute nuances of a similar concept, like a single word expressed and understood by a billion different people. The communication rips into her being at wavelengths beyond understanding, stripping away all coherent thought except for what her puny consciousness can translate as two nuanced words._

_They are too impossible to be false—more real than reality itself. All existence seems a lie compared to the horrifying, agonizing truth of the leviathans as they oscillate toward the galaxy. Living beings, but not alive like any sentient being she can imagine. They fold in among themselves, in and out of space as if they are crossing into higher and lower dimensions at will._

_If a nebula lived—if a galaxy lived—it would be like these monstrous beings. Devoid of goodness. Devoid of light. Alien beyond measure. There is only hunger and death and an entropic circling toward nothingness. She does not feel awe as before the gates of heaven, but rather terror as before the maw of hell. These luminous beings are not creatures of creation or life; she knows this with every iota of her being._

_They enter the galaxy, traversing its vastness with the same speed with which they traverse the void between. In a single gestalt instance, they absorb information from across the entire galaxy. They drink the various electromagnetic spectrums like men lost for days in the desert, and with the energy and light comes information. Worlds beyond human counting they account in a nanosecond. Moons and stars and everything in between. _

**DESTINATION.**

**AGREEMENT.**

**TRAJECTORY.**

**AGREEMENT.**

_The course is set. A small world around an unremarkable sun with a species similar to ones they have encountered before. A promise of conflict to restore the lost cycle. To grow strong. They cross the oceans of time and space, planning and preparing as they grow closer._

_Abruptly a third entity appears, emerging from a higher plane of existence almost on top of the other two leviathans. This one is smaller, leaner. Starved of energy and yet expending more energy as it moves. It flies toward the two larger creatures._

**EXCHANGE.**

**AGREEMENT.**

_The newcomer crushes against the two leviathans. The joining is sinuous and beyond imagining in its violence. Pocket dimensions form and collapse with expenditures of energy that could outshine whole suns as they writhe around each other like nebula-sized lovers. They rip each other apart with force to crush moons into dust. The paired leviathans flounder as the newcomer bloats itself on the shards of their being, while sharing few of its own in return. _

**ATTACK.**

**REPULSE.**

_The paired leviathans strike at the third, emitting energies that make a pulsar look dim. The attacker contracts and withdraws only a distance._

**PROTECTION.**

**REJECTION.**

_All three entities seem almost to bleed. The second of the original pair flounders, writhing in a thousand dimensions at once as it struggles to restore it's lost mass, power and self. It's blood- like shards of neutron stars shower across the many earths below. _

_The Third Entity too is bleeding from its encounter, though not as much. It bleeds out energy, but only a single shard of its body falls. It is that lone shard, glistening not with light but with something beyond description, that falls so quickly toward her. _

Blinking back tears, she saw Alexandria staring back at her, both of them kneeling in the corridor. "What did you see?" the elder cape asked.

"It's here," Taylor said. "The second leviathan. This is where it fell."

Behind them, Legend audibly gulped. After a moment, though, Taylor realized it wasn't because she knew about the fallen monster. Over Alexandria's shoulder, Taylor saw a beautiful, ageless woman dressed like Carmen Sandiego step into the hall out of seemingly nowhere, complete even with the fedora. Blue eyes studied her from a Mediterranean complexion. She wore a spotless, long-sleeved white button-up blouse with a khaki-colored skirt that hung down to her ankles.

In her eyes, Taylor saw a memory. A forest of living flesh; of human parts free of any humanity. Of confused, terrified people from a multitude of cultures, nations and even worlds.

She saw a little girl with a fishing knife, and a young, attractive black woman standing next to a half-formed silver avatar.

"_I- I have seen visions,"_ the little girl in the memory said_. "Things I was not meant to see, things this… godling wanted to keep to itself. I… have to stop it."_

The girl could not move, but she could speak. The black woman listened, glanced at the moving forest of flesh, and nodded._ "I believe you. It's dangerous?"_

The little girl nodded.

"_Are you sure?"_

"_I- I would stake everything on it. Everything ever."_

"_Where were you going to stab it? Where?"_

_The Avatar moved forward. The woman grabbed the little girl and they both stepped back. They would have fallen, if the girl had not steadied them both. _

_Even as they moved, the avatar formed more of its own body. Legs, a sexless groin, more of the arms. Long, silver hair flowed free. It bent over, head hanging, arms suspended to either side as it continued to struggle with its own injuries, inflicted by the shaped entity of Taylor's past visions._

_The little girl pointed at the nape of the half-formed avatar's neck. The woman wrapped her own hand around the hand the girl used to grip the knife, and almost like an extension of the girl herself, guided that knife hand down until it plunged into the exact spot where the half-formed spine met the half-formed skull. _

When Taylor emerged from the memory, the little girl grown into a woman knelt on both knees in front of her. She held Taylor's shoulders in her hands, and a single tear ran down her cheek.

"They took everything from you," Taylor whispered, her throat almost closed from emotions she could barely understand.

"And you," the other said. "Each of us had a path to this moment. Come."

She stood and, holding Taylor's hand, led her down the hall. Alexandria and Legend followed behind, somber and silent.

Shaking, and feeling somehow that she was in a dream, Taylor let the woman lead her. All around, the Force clung to her skin like a miasma of old death and despair. The woman's hand was smaller than hers, but felt cool and dry and served as a tiny pinprick of life against the death that dominated the atmosphere of the place.

They walked in silence for a long time until they reached an elevator that took them down an impossible distance. The door opened into a small, featureless white room. She couldn't see the outlines of tiles or any other sign of construction—just a plain white room.

The air felt heavy, with a strange scent that reminded her of the ocean. Not the clean, salty smell of a good day, but the mild putrescence of a coast at low tide. It smelled faintly of rot and dying things. The Force was so thick she found herself pushing it away from her senses.

Alexandria and Legend both stepped to a point in front of them, as if they knew just where to push. A seam appeared in the featureless white wall; the seam expanded into doors leading into a vast space.

The space within defied description. Like a football arena made for giants. Powerful lights lined a ceiling so high she could barely make out the mechanisms for them. The far walls of the space were lost in a haze. Plain white, like the floor she stood on. If the Grand Canyon were built by humans, this would be it. Catwalks lined the walls, stretching off into the distant haze toward the far wall, dozens of them like the lines of a child's drawing.

Her eyes skimmed over what filled the space to the opposite wall. The structure was far longer than it was wide, but even so four football fields could have rested end-to-end within the width of the space.

She forced her eyes back to what occupied it, but her mind and soul resisted and she found herself looking up.

"Taylor, you need to look." The woman's voice was low and calm; assuring.

"I can't."

"You've already seen it."

Taylor's whole body trembled. Her eyes would not move of their own, so through a force of will that left her shaking, Taylor moved her entire head until at last she saw.

She did not see any scintillating, shifting points of light dodging in and out of dimensions. What she saw was firmly, and wholly in her plane of existence. It was a mountain of flesh, a misty gray that defied any better description. Under the unsparing light she could not see any lines or features at all over the mountain of soft gray flesh.

Except, whenever she focused on anything close to the vast floor, her eyes could slowly make out details that didn't seem to be there moments before. From the flesh she saw protruding body parts. Arms, hands, legs. The outlines of torsos both feminine and male. A forest of them came into focus, as if her eyes refused to see them at first. Each body part was exquisitely formed, like hand or foot models. Each torso was sculpted and perfect, the feminine with beautifully shaped breasts, the masculine with sculpted abs and broad shoulders.

As if breaking through a veil, suddenly Taylor could see it all. Past the perfect parts she saw the imperfect, the in-progress. In some spots, she saw limbs connected to each other in grotesque fashions, in others places she could see only stretches of skin, veins, muscles or exposed bone, as if something had been experimenting or building those various parts. The force rebounded from the monstrousness of the being, rushing past her like a harsh wind or a tsunami that left her not numb, but raw and broken.

When she reached the end of those sections and saw the organic melt into fractals of crystal that seemed to stretch off into the infinite, she turned away from the woman, fell to her hands and knees, and promptly lost her breakfast.

"Are you okay?"

It was Legend who asked. And in that one instant, Legend sounded so like Taylor's father she felt tears well in her eyes and her nose instantly start to run again.

The woman in the fedora knelt down beside her.

"Your name was Fortuna," Taylor said.

"It was, once. Fortuna died with her people and her village. My name is Contessa. My power is to always walk a path to achieving my goal. And yet, Taylor, every path I follow now leads just to you. To this moment, this place. When I ask my power how to save the world, my answer is always you."

Pieces began to fall together in Taylor's mind as she knelt between a pile of vomit and the mostly-dead remains of a fallen god. "Alexandria told Gabriella where to find me. Because of you."

"Yes."

"And Overmind?"

"Yes."

"Coil?"

"You had to find Dinah."

"My Dad?"

"The path was out of focus—I didn't know it would be you until it was too late. There were others the power could have fallen to. I don't always know the specifics of why I do what I do."

Pieces continued to fall into place. She pushed herself to her feet. Contessa rose with her, standing beside her as they stared at the fallen entity. She stood level with the top of the woman's hat.

"You brought me here, now, because of Manton. Something you knew we'd find out about. He was one of yours?"

Contessa answered. "Before Mother and I struck the godling, she blunted my vision. My path. So we did what we could. We could grant powers from this body, and Manton was our chief researcher. He took volunteers from the dying of a hundred dimensional earths; and when that wasn't enough, he kidnapped them. All Case 53s are his work, but so are the Triumvirate. For every two hundred monsters, he created an Eidolon or a Legend. He refined it further and further until instead of two hundred monsters for every hero, we produced a hundred, then ten, then five, until now it's only one out of four that turn bad."

"We created the Protectorate and PRT," Alexandria said. "The Kingsmen and the Guild. The Suits and every other stabilizing parahuman Force outside of China. We created the Rogue program and helped fund the Youth Guard. And yes, Taylor, we created monsters and destroyed untold lives. And every day we told ourselves it was a price worth paying if it meant saving humanity. Not just our humanity, but all humans, in all dimensions."

"Manton tried vials on his daughter," Legend explained. "When it killed her, he stole an entire case of powers and fled. He took one of those vials he took, and Siberian was born."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Taylor said, too stunned to be furious yet.

"Because of the slim hope he'd help us in the end," Alexandria said. "At least, until you arrived on the scene."

"And now?"

Contessa took her hand again. "Now? My paths end, Taylor. The end is here, now, because he is the end of everything. We don't know how, or why, but when you go after William Manton, the world ends."

"But…then…what if I don't?"

"It'll end next year instead," Contessa said. "Either way, he's involved, and you are too. If you don't go to him, he'll come after you. This? We showed you this so you'll understand why. Alexandria will approve your request, but now you'll understand why we do what we do."

Taylor stared from the leaders of a conspiracy theory that Sarah all but confirmed existed, to the mountain of twisted flesh beyond. "There was a third. He attacked this one and Scion. I know that somehow Abaddon was shaped. That the people of the last galaxy to fall found a way to turn one leviathan against the others. But I don't know how they did it!"

"You will," Contessa said simply.


	46. Selflessness

A/N: Somehow, it's Tuesday again. Chap 45 review responses are in my forums like normal. The end is fast approaching.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six: Selflessness**

Taylor's expanded Tinker Lab in the JORD headquarters rang with the sound of metal on metal. Four separate construction droids, each powered by their own molecular furnaces which also converted raw material into usable parts, were quickly and efficiently assembling canine-like hunter/seeker droids.

Two larger ones were working on the containment unit they hoped to use on Crawler, a powerful brute and changer who could adapt to any threat. If a weapon or power didn't kill him immediately, he'd become impervious to it by the second or third shot. It's why he didn't look even remotely human any more.

And Taylor?

Taylor ran.

The afternoon following their briefing, when Horizon received the official approval to make plans to take out the Slaughterhouse Nine, Taylor skipped dinner with her teammates and ran. A few of Scapetti's people ran in the evening as well for their PT, but she left them far behind as she drew deeply on the Force to speed her steps.

Running became a form of meditation for her. The pumping of her arms and the steady stride of her legs became automatic as her mind drifted on the tides of the Force. As she ran, the Force spoke to her, showing her things from her past and the present.

"_Denny hit me for no reason!" _Taylor was four, and crying with a bloody nose and a bruise on her cheek. Denny, a year older but half her size, lay on his mother's lap sniffing from an even worse pummeling. She'd knocked out one of his baby teeth.

"_Who would want to be friends with a loser like you?" _Emma sneered as she said it, while behind her the taller, intimidating Sophia laughed.

"_That's a hell of a big gamble,"_ the older man with the heavy, ugly features said over a glass of 15-year-old Scotch. Across the table along a back porch overlooking a grassy lawn that led to the banks of a tree-lined river, a young-looking Hispanic woman with a horrendous scar across her left eye sipped her own. Another man, perhaps forty but slim and fit, with wind-swept auburn hair, shrugged.

"_This whole thing has been a crap shoot," _said the man who, in costume, led the Protectorate. He looked at the woman who, in costume was Alexandria, but out of it was Rebecca Costa-Brown, the head of the PRT. "_What does our thinker say?"_

"_That we can't win with what we have,_" Costa-brown said. "_That our only hope is to find the silver bullet. And Contessa believes it's this girl."_

The man with the heavy, ugly features who had to be Eidolon, downed his whiskey. "_Then here's to hoping she figures her shit out. I'll be on stand by the moment it goes to shit."_

The vision blurred. She was inside her house, but before it was refurbished—still a filthy, run-down former church.

"_I can't make that,"_ Yuki said from the edge of the balcony as she looked down at Taylor. Her voice shook with fear.

"_Then I'll catch you,_" Taylor told her.

She ran. The sun set over the ocean to the west. A particularly bright star hung on the horizon, and Taylor knew it was the Simurgh. Watching. Waiting.

Still she ran and ran some more. She stopped drawing on the Force to replenish herself because she wanted and needed the physical exhaustion. She needed to _see_; she needed to understand. How did she gain these powers? Why did she have all the memories of a long-dead Bendu master except the one memory she needed to have most?

Her knees buckled and she collapsed into the grass beside the running path. She rolled to a stop and just laid in the dirt, staring up at the first glimmers of stars while her chest struggled to grasp air. It was a rare, cloudless night.

In a home just a few miles south of where she lay, she had teammates who had become close friends and even family. She had a hard time imagining her life without Sarah or LaDonna; without Dinah or Rory or Campanile with his ridiculous bulge and mommy issues.

During those horrid, dark months after she lost everything, she'd never imagined how much she could gain. And now she stood to lose it all again, because she didn't know what she was supposed to do to save those she loved.

The Force flowed through her. No more visions came, just the soothing waves of life and energy that washed away her exhaustion. She let her fear and anguish go as well, like dropping crumbs into the sea. Little by little, until she felt balanced.

_Ready._

She walked back toward the compound. It took almost an hour; she didn't bother rushing. The night felt warm and soothing; and it gave time for the sweat to dry from her clothes. She smelled cigarette smoke and sensed a familiar presence long before she saw Scapetti by the north gate. He was leaning on one of the sentry posts, smoking his Marlborough's.

"Quite the run there, kid," he said calmly. "I've seen you do twenty miles before, but not that fast. You good?"

"Yeah." She smiled at the man, who in his vast 29 years of life had decided he was everyone's dad. "I''ll be okay. Long day tomorrow."

"Yeah. But a good one. A long time coming, if you ask me. So go get some sleep, or meditate, or whatever you do."

"You too, Scapetti."

Once she was inside the perimeter, Scapetti closed the gate and activated the security sentries. Taylor started down the sidewalk that ran from the JORD command center to the housing district. Well, soon-to-be district. So far, hers was the only completed house. But they were building more homes for Horizon and her husband, Triumph and Dinah (when she wasn't snuggled up with Taylor), and any of the PRT folks who wanted to live close to work.

She slipped into the garage entrance. She considered going down to the lab to check on her personal projects. Instead, she decided to shower and go to bed. It was late enough, and the following day would be long and hard enough, that everyone should have been in bed. Which was why she was surprised to find Sarah in the dining room, waiting for her. She had a small glass of amber fluid in hand.

"I won't be curing any hangovers tomorrow," Taylor said with a wry smile.

"Yeah you will," Sarah said with a tired grin.

Taylor sat down beside her. "Yeah, I probably will." She took the glass and had a sip. It burned smoothly down her throat as she handed it back. "Underage drinking. We should be ashamed."

Insight snorted. "All things considered, that's nothing. I mean, Siberian is William Manton. And all the Case 53s are because of a shadowy conspiracy that the Triumvirate not only knew about, but were an active part of. And after today I'm fairly certain that Costa-Brown is actually Alexandria in surprise."

Having met them both, Taylor just nodded. "Yup. Better yet, she knows I know."

Sarah took another sip, and then turned away to wipe an eye with the heal of her hand. "Overused my power today."

Without a word, Taylor reached across to place her hand on Sarah's forehead, only for Sarah to hold her hand and stop her.

"I need the pain," Sarah whispered, her voice catching a little. It was odd to hear her voice Taylor's own earlier thoughts. "Maybe tomorrow, when it's time to work. But right now, I need the pain. I've earned it."

Taylor nodded, accepting her friend's request without question. Sarah did, however, continue to hold her hand. "Dinah confirmed everything. She says there's a better than 80% chance the world ends tomorrow. It came out of the blue, she said. Last week it was only 15%. Now? Even if we don't attack, there's a 98% chance the Slaughterhouse Nine comes for us within the year. After we took out the Blasphemies last month, we're too big a threat now for them to ignore."

_And wasn't that a fight_.

Her fingers squeezed Taylor's, who squeezed right back. "The Force is with us," she said.

"You know that makes no sense, right?"

Taylor chuckled. "It doesn't have to make sense. I have lightsabers."

Sarah's laugh sounded desperate and terrified and hysterical. And when it was over, she was blinking back tears.

"You know I love you, right? I mean, not physical or anything because that's fucking gross. But like a sister?"

"Yeah. I love you too."

"Good. So, as a sister, I gotta tell you. Yuki was released from rehab and enrolled in the Wards this afternoon. Clean bill of health, under psychiatric care. She came, introduced herself to everyone, and is upstairs in your bedroom."

Taylor's chest felt tight. "I don't…"

Sarah squeezed her hand and downed her drink. "Taylor, I know she's still fucked up. And I know whatever you two had was broken from the beginning. You wanted your Emma back. And she needed a personal god to worship. This morning proved where on the boy-girl spectrum your tastes actually fall. But I also know she still means something to you."

She met Taylor's black eyes squarely. "The world's gonna probably die tomorrow. And if I only had one night left, and I didn't have a power that fucked it all up for me, I'd wanna spend it in someone's arms. She's not perfect; she's just what you've got."

With that, Sarah stood and walked away into the shadows of the house to head upstairs.

Opening herself in the Force, Taylor could feel the achingly familiar Force presence upstairs. With feet that felt oddly heavy, she followed Sarah up the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. Her door was open, but only one of the lamps on either side was one.

She stepped into the room, and there was Yuki, waiting for her.

Her hair was styled differently, Taylor saw immediately. The formerly long, silky black locks were shorter, now, with a curl at the ends. She'd bleached one thick strand, so it looked like she had a streak of white from the right side of her hairline that made her look a little older.

She no longer looked skeletal; instead her skin looked mostly clear and healthy, and she'd obviously resumed her exercises. In the Force, she felt stronger but still unbalanced. Fearful.

Yuki rose to her feet from the corner of the bed a split-second before Taylor stepped in. She'd dressed in simple summer shorts and a light green blouse. She'd discarded her shoes and clutched her hands together in front of her almost compulsively while biting her lower lip.

Taylor could see old, healed track marks on the inside of both arms.

"Hi," Yuki said simply.

Her round, porcelain-doll face was as beautiful as ever; her dark eyes shimmering on the edge of tears. "How are you?" Taylor asked. Her voice sounded odd, like it belonged to someone else.

"I'm okay, I think," Yuki said. "I…I got to meet Alexandria today, when I enrolled. She said you guys were going after the Slaughterhouse Nine tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"I…I'd like to come. Back up, maybe? I think…I've had a lot of time to meditate. It's what got me through withdrawal. And the Force…it's telling me I need to be with you now."

Taylor wanted to ask if it was the Force telling her that, or Yuki's own desire. But she realized in the end it wouldn't matter. The Force was with her, Taylor could feel it.

"Okay."

"Good. Thanks!" A spark of her old frantic energy shone for just a moment before she bit it back viciously. She pulled her own fingers.

"So, I guess, I'll…see you tomorrow?"

She moved slowly toward the space between Taylor and the wall, as if to leave. She took small steps, as if her feet weighed a ton each. She forced a sickly smile and kept her shimmering eyes dry as she moved to leave.

In that moment, Taylor realized that Sarah was right. Yuki wasn't perfect; they would never work as a couple long term. But in a way, Sarah was also wrong. Yuki was not all Taylor had. Taylor had a family now. She had Dinah and Sarah herself, Mujaji and Flechette. Campanile and Triumph were like their awkward big brothers. She had a family.

No, Yuki wasn't all Taylor had. But at that moment Taylor knew that she was all Yuki herself had. And when Taylor reached out an arm to block her and pull her toward her, Yuki began crying. She collapsed into Taylor's arms, all strength and pretense gone. With the Force, Taylor closed and locked the door, and then lifted the petite young woman in her arms.

"I hate the furniture," Yuki said with a tremulous laugh as Taylor laid her in bed.

"I know," Taylor said. "I don't want to make love to you, Yuki. I never enjoyed that. Right now, I just want to be held. I don't want you to be my girlfriend or my love. I want you to be my friend. My sister."

Yuki sniffed and nodded. "Anything. Anything for you, Taylor."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

_Master Ouria stared intently at the leviathan they'd captured. Its body shimmered in and out of their visible dimension in a scintillating, serpentine rope of colors that spanned the entire length of the chamber. All around the fourteen-kilometer long interior, massive gravity-well projectors, shield array emitters and the newest tool, the omnispatial sinks, created a pocket of space that not even one of the leviathans could escape from. _

_The sinks were a product of an Infected engineer; the science such none could understand it nor duplicate it. If the Infected engineer died, they would lose the means of capturing such creatures. Yet if they'd had such tools earlier, they might have been able to combat the beasts more effectively than burning their own worlds._

_Master Dardell stood beside her, his large compound eyes staring intently at the creature with far more spectra seen than she could ever imagine. He was a Duros—the very last of his kind. Just as Ouria was the very last Dathomiri._

_There were so many _lasts_ around them. _

"_Master Szint-iss was successful," Dardell said. "The leviathan turned on its own kind, killing four before it was, in turn, killed."_

"_The beasts are vastly intelligent, but not wholly sentient," Ouria noted. "Szint-iss was at peace? She attained balance?"_

"_She did," Dardell said. "Trandoshans, of course, cannot smile. But she exulted as she became one with the Force. Already another leviathan has been captured in the Hunter craft; this one shall be mine."_

_After almost two centuries of life, Ouria no longer viewed death as an enemy to be feared. The grief she felt was wholly her own. For Dardell was the last of her padawan class to live—the last friend from a childhood centuries past. _

_Duros were not physical creatures; Bendu were not emotive beings. And yet he did not protest, and she did not speak, when she knelt down so that she might hug her long-time friend. _

"_I shall see you again in the Force, my dearest friend."_

"_In the Force, all things are possible." Wiry arms returned her hug before he stepped back. "Because of you, Master Ouria, we give hope to other galaxies. They will never know what we do for them; which makes ours a true act of love. In all things, I wish you balance."_

_He bowed deeply to her from the waist, as a pupil might to a teacher. She returned the same gesture. Having said their last words, the last Duros left the last Dathomiri and walked calmly toward a waiting shuttle. _

_Ouria herself glanced once more at the leviathan—her leviathan—before making her way to the command deck of the Hunter ship. _

_Those around her bowed in silent respect; aware of who she was and what was going to happen. Some reached out a hand—not to shake or greet. Simply to touch. And with each, she responded in kind; lacing her fingers into theirs so that they might feel another again. A spark of hope. _

_All those on board the massive craft were Infected. There were no more non-infected sentient beings left in the galaxy. Then again, the galaxy itself was nearly destroyed. It was easier for the navigation droids to estimate the number of intact stars than those destroyed either by Leviathans or the collapsing Republic remnant that fought them. _

_Never was this more apparent than when she reached the command deck and saw her last padawan standing by the captain, studying a holo projection of the galaxy itself. Entire arms of the spiral had gone dark, reduced either to clouds of dust or white dwarfs lingering after the artificially induced novas and supernovas. _

_Nine hundred trillion sentient beings were dead; tens of thousands of worlds in tens of thousands of star systems obliterated by one side or the other. And now the leviathans were coming for them—the remnant fleet that flew on the edge of the galaxy. They were trapped, lacking the resources to span the great void between galaxies, but with nowhere else to go. _

_And so they fought with this last, desperate plan that Ouria herself developed. _

"_Antigonal has fallen, Master," Hieshia said. She was a human girl, born in the fleet to infected parents. Her infection had not evidenced abilities yet, but it was only a matter of time. _

"_Master Goaen?"_

_The captain cleared his throat. Being Bothan, the sound reminded her faintly of a barking animal. "Twelve leviathans died, Master, with no sign of him or his Chosen. We have to assume he was successful." _

"_Indeed." Ouria looked out across the deck, to the pin-pricks of light that were the remnant fleet. Two hundred and thirty-three thousand ships with the last remnants of the galaxy's sentient beings housed within. Whole generations were born without having ever known the light of a star or the feel of soil under their feet, outside the agricultural ships._

"_Master?" _

_Ouria turned to see that Hieshia had drifted close. She was young, barely sixteen standard years of age. Petite of build with honey-colored hair and the piercing green eyes common to the humans of Adoban III, the young padawan struggled to contain her fear and anguish. _

"_Balance, child," Ouria said softly. "In all things, seek balance."_

"_But…I'm…it's so much to ask."_

_Ouria pulled the human to her. Over Hieshia's head, she watched as the Bothan, Trevesk, nodded to her and left to give them privacy. _

"_What we do, we do for life itself," Ouria whispered into the girl's hair. "It has always been this way; some die so that others may live. Our time has passed. It saddens me that you were born into this time, that you don't have more time to live and love. And yet, you will also take part in the greatest gift the universe has ever seen. The gift of life."_

_Heshia hugged her master desperately. "You're talking about life, but you're going to die! Just like mother and father! You say I have to die too! Where's the life? It's not fair!"_

"_No, child, it's not," Ouria agreed. She ran a hand through the young girl's hair. "It's not fair. You've had far more suffering than happiness. But all things pass into the Force. We are all allotted our time, and it is how we live, and how we die, that is important."_

_She pulled the girl back and stared down at Taylor. "It is not right that you should have had so little time. But in what we do, we give untold trillions the hope to someday live as we were denied; we give them the hope of happiness or sorrow, birth and death. They shall grow or wither as their own natures decree, and not at the whim of soulless abominations. In all my years—in all the annals and holocrons of the Bendu and Jedi that preceded us, I can think of no greater achievement. And so I will go, and when there are no masters left, the padawans will go. And by doing so, we will stop the scourge here before it can spread. And we do this, Taylor Hebert, for love. We do this for you."_

_She stepped back from Taylor and bowed from the waist, as if she were not Taylor's master. Taylor returned the gesture, weeping unabashedly. _

"_How am I even here?"_

"_In the Force, all things are possible," Ouria said. "Come. See."_

_The two walked side by side past the command deck. The entirety of the ship consisted of the frame for the systems that captured and imprisoned the leviathan. Everything else was just hypermatter reactors, fusion generators, and the command deck. _

_The two walked down a long flight of stairs since the ship was built so hastily they didn't bother with turbolifts where it was possible to avoid them. They reached a platform that projected out into the leviathan chamber itself. _

"_Stay here, my final padawan," Ouria said. "Watch, learn. Understand. For when your time comes."_

_Taylor nodded, wiped her eyes, and watched as the ancient Dathomiri walked steadily down the long flight of stairs until she reached the platform. The entity before her was so vast it looked as if she were walking toward a mountain or the prow of another Hunter ship, instead of a single living being. _

_She reached the center of the platform within a pocket of atmosphere and easily sank down into a cross-legged position. _

_In the Force, Taylor watched as the Leviathan responded with an avatar. The image was beautiful—a silver Dathomiri woman who looked just like Ouria's own mother all those centuries ago. She hovered in the air in front of Ouria, smiling beneficently. Her silver eyes, though, were as empty as the void between galaxies. _

"_I bear within myself a shard of your brethren," Ouria said aloud. "An administration shard. I have given it centuries of information and experience. I have trained it in the Force, and have become the most powerful of my kind because of it. Take it, and it shall make you stronger for your next cycle. I give this to you, freely. Take it, and you shall be free. You know the truth of my words."_

"_YOU THINK WE DO NOT SEE?"_

_Taylor fell to her knees, sobbing as the power of the Leviathan's communication swept through her mind. _

_On the platform, Ouria winced but made no other show of discomfort. "Do you not see what the Force could do for you?"_

"_YOU WOULD DESTROY US."_

"_How? I will be dead. My kind die, your kind ascend. It is our time. This way, a small part of me and what I can offer will live on in you. You will be my child, in a sense. What I do; what I offer, I do so out of love."_

_The silver avatar frowned; for all its many cognition powers, the creature did not know how to regulate the features of its avatar and had no concept of emotion. It could predict behaviors of sentient beings, but never understand why. Or, it did not care to. _

_It waived a lazy silver hand, as if swatting an insect, and Master Ouria's head exploded in a shower of goo that sprayed across the platform. Her body tumbled over, continuing to pump blood across the silvery durasteel platform for a brief second. In the air before the avatar, a spot of light hung motionless, visible only because of the Force. Taylor stared at the light, fascinated and horrified, as the avatar grabbed it and absorbed it into itself. And in that moment, Abaddon was created._

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

In the vast void between galaxies, in a darkness and cold that hovered near the absolute absence of energy, Taylor floated beside a perfect, silver replica of a young Ouria. She held Taylor's hands as they watched the two entities swimming through the Void toward a distant Milky Way Galaxy.

One or two other entities escaped the final death of the galaxy; escaped the artificial cascading of the supermassive black holes that the Remnant used to collapse the entirety of the galaxy in a last-ditch effort to save the rest of the Universe from this scourge. Yet for all their work, four entities escaped; four monsters, and a single entity that was different. An entity that Cauldron called Abaddon.

"That's how you did it," Taylor said in a thick, cracking voice. "You sacrificed yourselves."

"Yes." Ouria's avatar had little of the warmth of the living being of Taylor's memories. "Heishia did as well—all the last of the Bendu, be they masters, knights or padawans—sacrificed themselves to turn the leviathans against each other. It was those turned creatures that held most of the others within the galaxy when it died. And it was Ouria's leviathan that escaped to pursue those others, and to give any new worlds that fell victim the key to defend themselves if it failed."

"Me."

The silvery being met her gaze squarely. "You. You bear Ouria's power; her memories; her shard. She imparted everything she could into it, to give your world every advantage she could. She did all this, knowing it was her death."

"And now it's my death," Taylor said. "I have to die for this to work."

"Yes," the Avatar said. It was not Ouria—it was the imprint of her within Abaddon. Within the shard of her Force power itself. "That was always your destiny, Taylor Hebert. You shall die; and in so doing you shall save your world. It is a hard burden to bear; which is why it fell to the strongest of shoulders."

"So there's no hope for me? No choice?"

The avatar stared at her, the hint of a smile on her silver lips. "In the Force, all things are possible. And for love, all things can be given. Whom do you love, child? And what would you sacrifice to keep them safe?"

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Taylor woke quietly. No gasp, no jerking motions. She simply opened her eyes.

Yuki was sprawled half over her, just like they used to sleep when it was just the two of them in a cot, struggling to stay warm in a dilapidated old church. Glancing to the clock on the wall opposite, she saw it was almost seven.

_They were shipping out for Nebraska in twenty minutes._

Using the Force to steady her former lover, Taylor slipped out of the bed. She showered quickly before pulling on the black body glove for her armor. The rest was already in the VTOL.

She walked back out and leaned over the bed, gently tracing Yuki's hair. "You are so fucked up, you know that?" she whispered. "I don't even like girls. And I…" She stopped, afraid she might sob if she continued. Instead, she leaned forward and gently kissed Yuki's temple.

"I love you," she said simply. "Even after everything, I'll do it. For you. For Dinah. For my new family."

Yuki remained asleep, snoring lightly, as Taylor walked downstairs before leaving the house with her teammates. Only when the roar of the VTOL living off made the walls of the converted church shake did Yuki open her eyes and curl into a fetal ball, crying so hard the ragged sound made her chest hurt.

As the VTOL lifted off, Yuki sat up in bed. She didn't stop sobbing until she felt the air change around her. She looked up in confusion, no longer alone.


	47. Let The World Burn

A/N: Chap 46 review responses are in my forums as normal. This story will be done by this time next Saturday. Theogony will begin regular posting after that.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Let The World Burn**

In a lee between two grassy, sandy hills of a plain that seemed to never end; under a midnight sky so clear that Taylor could make out the bar of the Milky Way, the Joint Operational Reaction Deployment team gathered around a real-time holographic 3D depiction of a nearby town provided by Dragon's hovering drones.

They were five miles away from Dunning, Nebraska, at a point so remote they hadn't seen any headlights since they landed.

Dragon herself was with them, along with five of her most powerful combat "suits." She wouldn't be deploying in a combat role personally, though. Nor did she have to—droid brain or not, Dragon was able to remote control her suits as well as if she were still occupying them directly.

"I'm not buying those thermal readings," Insight said. "Too clear. Bonesaw can change a person's thermal output easily. Odds are they're victims."

Now that they had drone footage of the town that didn't come through questionably placed social media footage, Taylor thought it looked like a turbolaser canon or something of equal power.

Scapetti had the same thought. "Looks like a big gun."

"It likely is," Dragon said. "Now we know what all their tinkers were for. My initial analysis shows an energy weapon with a potentially fantastic destructive output. Continent-cracking, Endbringer-damaging levels of output. Potentially, at least. It could also be a bomb."

"Or an ice cream maker," Davis muttered.

"I'm betting on a gun or bomb," Insight said.

"What kind?" Horizon asked.

"The end-of-Nebraska and probably North America kind," Insight said. "Whatever it is, it's a McGuffin. We can't ignore it, and they know we can't. So, all their traps will be to stop us from getting to it."

"I don't suppose we can just blast it from altitude?" Laura Davis asked.

"Knowing the Nine, what would almost certainly turn it into a bomb," Taylor said.

Behind them in the hold of their VTOL, the team was gearing up. Other than Campanile, who was dressed in a skin-tight body-glove of armor weave, all the capes and agents wore identical suits of armor. Black armor weave body gloves with durasteel plates at strategic points, with enclosed helmets proofed against any of Bonesaw's biological hazards. Each black suit had repulsor coils built into their utility belts and jump jets giving them effective flight capabilities. And after multiple deployments together, the team knew how to use their tools effectively.

Each of the twenty agents were armed with blaster rifles, while Davis and their new sniper, George Nguyen, were both armed with Disruptor rifles. They were both the best marksmen, and their weapons could cause a catalytic disruption of the molecular structure of any organic mass. One shot by a disrupter didn't just kill—it disintegrated the whole body. They just weren't sure it would work on Crawler. If he survived the first shot, he'd adapt to the second.

Donahue Tso was their heavy weapons expert. He bore a much heavier backpack equipped not just with jump jets, but with a blaster cannon that could reduce a house to rubble with a single shot. He also manned their heavy weapons drones.

Triumph carried the carbine as well as an adjustable helmet that let him deploy his voice-based power. Since joining the team and being released from the normal Protectorate restrictions, his rating had increased to Blaster 6. His sonic shout was easily lethal. Otherwise, he had the same armor and load-out as the agents, and had been training extensively with them to use them for the past six months.

Flechette carried a modified slug-thrower. She could empower a bullet to be unstoppable and fire fast enough to have thirty shots in the air a minute. It was her rifle and Taylor's telepathic scream that made the difference with the Three Blasphemies. The sensor suite of her rifle, combined with her own Thinker power, made her their big gun.

Horizon had the same weapons load as the rest, but with an open face-mask allowing her to use her thinker perception power, and fingerless gloves to use her striker power. That made her vulnerable to any biological agents Bonesaw might use, but she judged the risk worth it.

Mujaji traded the repulsor coils and jump jets she didn't need for a force-field generator to augment her imperviousness. She was an Alexandria package, but like many such, her offense far outweighed her defense.

Insight was the least armed—she still had the body glove and armor, with a small blaster holstered at her hip. But she was their intelligence operative, and would stay with Dragon to coordinate the assault. Dinah was back in JORD headquarters, but connected via their quantum com system.

They'd spent the flight watching the last two attempts the Protectorate made against the Slaughterhouse Nine. What they learned was that the Nine could die. The terrorist band went through a regular roster of members. The core, though, always got away. This was because the Siberian could grant imperviousness to whomever she touched. During an early fight in Miami, almost the entire roster was wiped out by Legend letting lose after they managed to kill one of his favored proteges. But the Siberian grabbed Jack Slash and Bonesaw, and Crawler had long ago adapted to Legend's power powerful blows, and the core survived to reform the Nine again six months later.

The missing piece-the key to it all-was William Manton.

"Everyone geared up?" Scapetti called.

"Yes, sir!" came the calls. No one shouted; they were under operation security and in a relatively small area. There was no need and no benefit.

Horizon took over. "Alright, team, final rundown. First priority is the elimination of the Slaughterhouse Nine. The device is secondary. They have a history of using hostages to protect themselves. We have authorization straight from Washington to use any and all means to end the threat. If the choice is freeing a hostage or killing a member of the Nine, remember that any villain we let go will kill more people later. More importantly, any hostages have undoubtedly been rigged to become weapons themselves. Insight?"

The holoprojector switched to a moving image of a zebra-striped, naked woman with a shock of white hair.

"Siberian," the whole team, capes and agents, chanted.

"Unstoppable. Unkillable. If she gets you, you're dead. If she gets one of your teammates, they're dead and you need to proceed accordingly. If you try to save them, you die as well. Insight and Quintessence will be working to take care of Siberian, but we have to anticipate she will enter the theatre and we will likely take losses when she does. Flechette, you're our only hope to hold her off until Quintessence and Insight take her out. If that rifle of yours doesn't work, get off the deck and fire for effect from altitude."

The next image was a six-legged monstrosity—a Cthulu-esque creature with tentacles and eyeballs all over its body. It spit acid and was roughly the size of a rhinoceros.

"Crawler," the team chanted.

"This is Dragon's and Campanile's primary responsibility," Horizon said. "Killing him is nearly impossible, so we're going for containment courtesy of our not-a-tinker. When and if Dragon is able to deploy the containment unit, there's a good chance the Nine will try to free him. Don't let them."

The next image was of a dark-complexioned woman with long, curly black hair and a glittering, shimmering costume that appeared to be made of glass.

"Shatterbird," the team said.

"The single largest mass-murderer on the team," Horizon said. "When she triggered in Abu Dhabi, she shattered the glass of every skyscraper in the city and killed forty percent of its population before fleeing west. She's the reason why none of you have any silicates in any of your gear. However, she has plenty of glass to work with around us and she's on record using glass like industrial sandpaper. She can reduce you to paste in minutes. Mujaji, Davis and your squad, she's your primary responsibility."

The image switched to a very young woman with what looked like cigarette burns on her face.

"Burnscar."

"Pyrokinetic and a mover—she can teleport between flames. Your armor should give you all some protection. Callister, she's your squad's primary target."

The next image was of a blonde girl of twelve in a blue pinafore dress and a blood-splattered white apron.

"Bonesaw."

"Due to the risk of biological contamination, do not engage if possible. If you must engage, try stun first. She'll be a top target of disruptor snipers. If we kill her by any other weapon, use your thermal detonator to sterilize the immediate area. When you hear people talk about things worse than death? She's who they're talking about."

The next image popped up; a thing of white porcelain-like surfaces linked together with chains in a parody of a human form.

"Mannequin."

"Formerly Alan Graeme, also known as Sphere. The quintessential Simurgh-bomb. After Ziz killed his family and infected his brain, he started cutting himself up in self-contained units until he became what you see before you. Fast, dangerous. He's the primary motivator behind the last six months of the nine kidnapping tinkers. Tso, your squad is on him."

The next image was of an attractive young woman covered in hideous tattoos.

"Cherish."

"Cherish Vasil, one of Heartbreaker's kids," Horizon said. "Baseline human, and in a way the scariest of the bunch. She's a master capable of driving people insane with fear, lust, hate with a range of four miles at least. She can detect us by our emotions alone, and she can make or break this mission. More than Siberian or Crawler, we need to take her out or the Nine will know exactly where we are at all times. Flechette, you'll be coordinating with Insight and Quintessence's hunter droids to find the target and take her out. We won't move until we have a confirmed kill."

The next image was of a man in a filthy white, long-sleeved button-up and jeans. He wore a goatee and looked vaguely like an older movie star.

"Jack Slash."

"Jack Slash, a blaster/striker who can extend and magnify the cutting effect of any blade he holds. Our best guess is his primary power is ineffective against our armor. Scapetti and squad, he's yours.

"Once the members of the Nine are dealt with, Dragon, Quintessence and possibly Insight will examine the tinker device for disposal, or call in other Protectorate assets as necessary. Defiant and Circuit Board are both on standby for teleportation is necessary and the Triumvirate themselves are on emergency standby for the capes. It is the intent of the Protectorate and Guild to end the Slaughterhouse Nine today. Quintessence?"

Taylor stepped to the team leader's side. "No boots on the ground until after all other options have been exhausted. You're assigned specific targets, but we're going to be deploying hunter/seeker droids to pin down targets first. Tso, your heavy weapons drone will no doubt get some play. These are the most dangerous capes we've gone up against. We can't underestimate them. So we're going to be hitting them hard and fast with everything we have. Questions?"

This was the third time through the briefing since they left Seattle and landed, taking their time to make sure they spent the day far, far away from the Nine.

"Alright," Horizon said. "Quintessence, unleash the hounds. Mujaji, Flechette, hit the sky. Lock up, no external sound or signals. Remember, Bonesaw has probably messed with their body temperatures, go multi-spectra on your HUDs."

As she spoke, Taylor walked with Insight to her control station—with twenty small screens arrayed in a hemisphere at eye level, and a larger one over it. With a few typed commands, the fifty Doberman-sized droids launched out of their cannisters under the stabilizer fins of the VTOL and ran toward the city.

Mujaji and Flechette walked down the ramp, and in seconds were airborne toward the city. With their repuslor coils and Mujaji's flight power, they did so without a sound. Their systems would keep them just beyond Cherish's range, but Flechette's powerful scope and her power itself made four miles nothing.

"This is it," Insight said with a tight grin.

The team had to stay at least four miles out because of Cherish's emotion-sensing power, but with quantum locks, their droids would serve as their eyes. The machines all had limited artificial intelligence letting them react and hunt, while transmitting everything back in an array of imaging.

What they revealed made Taylor's stomach turn.

William Manton sat in a reclining chair next to the device that, up close, looked even more like a massive turbo-laser cannon than before. Mannequin sat in a gunner's seat. And around them moved the tinkers. There were ten minds, but only five bodies.

"Bonesaw," Insight whispered shakily.

The Siberian was sitting on Manton's lap. Given that she appeared to be a zebra-striped naked girl with the face of Manton's daughter, the image was itself disturbing. But what surprised them was Jack Slash standing nearby arguing.

Insight manipulated the controls and brought a second hunter-seeker to view the exchange. Both activated their directional microphones.

"..._why? You've gone this long, you've had so much fun. We've created such wonderful art together. Why now?"_

Manton answered by having his projection roll his joint up for him and place it in his mouth. She lit the end before settling back.

"_I have a shot,_" Flechette reported.

"Hold, Cherish hasn't been sighted yet," Insight said softly.

The canine-like droids were continuing to scan through the city. Their thermal imaging revealed many human heat sources inside various buildings, but their organic scanners revealed no living members of the town. The heat was artificial-traps formed by Bonesaw, without a doubt.

"There!" Taylor said, pointing.

In one of the houses on the outskirts of town, the droids found several heat signatures that were still moving. Three of the droids silently took positions around the home, using the full power of their sensor suites to capture sound. Within the house were four living people.

"_...fucking bored. Why can't we go down the road to the next town? Or, what about Idaho? If Siberian wants to be…" _Taylor recognized a northwestern accent. Canadian, from the way she pronounced 'about'.

"_Language!"_ A child's voice, high-pitched and almost artificially saccharine in tone. _"And you don't get to talk about Sibby that way. She's just not feeling good, that's all."_

"_Sorry. It just feels like we're inviting disaster."_

"_Let them come."_ Another woman's voice. Older and heavily accented with Middle Eastern overtones. Insight was quickly labelling the heat signatures with names that gave children and adults alike nightmares. Bonesaw. Cherish. Shatterbird. The fourth was almost certainly Burnscar.

Horizon stepped between Quintessence and Insight and watched intently before tapping her helmet.

"Tso, we have sensors on at least three, possibly four primaries. Send in the drone strike._"_

"_Roger, drone inbound._"

Like the rest of their equipment, the drone operated on repulsor coils. This made it slow, but silent. The craft was roughly the size of a basketball goal backboard, with reflective camouflage that made the bottom look exactly like the sky above it. They watched as the drone latched onto the targets acquired by the hunter/seeker droids and flew steadily toward it, quickly covering the five miles.

Another of the droid sensors encountered something blazingly hot and massive, right before it ceased transmitting.

"Shit, Crawler found a droid,"Insight said.

Horizon touched her com. "Tso, we've been made. Switch from passive to active. Loose all. Loose all!"

The drone, which would ordinarily have positioned itself directly over the target to unleash itself payload, instead positioned the miniature mortars and began shooting the high-powered thermal detonators in a star-pattern around the home, and then into the home itself.

Inside, Shatterbird stood up. "_What was…"_

Ten thermal detonators, each set for a twenty meter diameter reaction, ignited at five points equidistant around the home, and five points directly within the home. Outside their VTOL, the horizon briefly lit up with a small, white star. When the reaction passed, leaving only a crater, the droids quickly confirmed that at least three, and possibly four, of the members of the Nine were instantly vaporized.

Horizon nodded. "_All units, we are a go! Flechette, take your shot." _She ran as she spoke, with Taylor at her side. They left Dragon and Insight and boarded the transport that now held their team.

The vehicle launched into the air with a roar. Taylor and the rest of the team gathered at the back ramp until the overhead light turned green. Without any hesitation, she joined the rest of the PRT team as they ran off the ramp into open air. Jump jets brought them down in formation with weapons at hand.

"_All teams, be advised. Siberian is in play," _Flechette announced. "_Shot was a no go. Repeat, shot was a no go!"_

Before she even finished warning them, a streak of white and black arced up through the air. Without a word, Taylor sent an impulse through the Force to scatter. The Siberian targeted Scapetti's second in command, Laura Davis. Impossible claws ripped through her leg.

Even the Siberian seemed surprised when the leg sparked and exploded in her face, propelling the projection back to the ground.

"Already lost that one, fucker!" Davis shouted through her helmet.

The sky shook as a second of Dragon's remote suits slammed into the ground just on the edge of the village. A building nearby exploded as a six-legged monstrosity of tentacles and eye-balls ran screaming and spitting acid at the bus-sized combat suit.

"Fight me!" Crawler roared.

He launched himself into the air and crashed down right on top of the suit. The mechanized combat unit fell flat to the ground, but suddenly it's six limbs shot away from the main body. The limbs unrolled to reveal emitters. In the center, repulsor coils lit up, shooting Crawler into the air that suddenly shimmered with forcefields.

"The fuck is this? Fight me!"

Siberian was already rushing toward the containment unit, Davis forgotten.

Taylor ignored the projection and launched herself directly toward the center of the town where Manton sat. "Flechette, do you have eyes on Manton?"

"_Negative. Target has fled the scene. I have Slash."_

The moment she spoke, Taylor felt something slam into her helmet like a baseball bat. Her HUD blinked but reverted immediately. The Force sent her rolling forward, likely evading another hit. Ahead, she saw Jack Slash himself with a shaving razor in his hand. Even as she watched, he twisted his arm and made a slashing motion.

Behind her, one of her team screamed as the lower portion of their leg suddenly separated at the knee. _He just cut through armorweave with a fucking knife!_

"Take the shot," Taylor said.

Slash had a moment to look up before his head splattered. A second shot caused his chest to rupture.

An explosion lit the night. Taylor spun around and watched in horror as the containment sled erupted in flame. The massive, six-legged Crawler launched out into the air and landed on another of Dragon's suits, tearing into it easily with a joyous roar. Unfortunately, a fire team was too close in their effort to defend the unit. Crawler pounced on the three man team, ripping them apart instantly.

"Slash is down," Taylor called. "Where the hell is Manton?"

Crawler finished his meal. He turned a plethora of eyes toward them. "Fight me, bitches!" he roared. It sounded like he was speaking with several mouths. He began to charge them when Campanile expanded to his full thirty-foot height and kicked the monstrous cape as hard as he could.

For all his size and power, Crawler wasn't immune to physics. Just like a football, he went flying up and over the line of houses.

Suddenly Taylor's field of vision was dominated by white and black. She received no warning from the Force at all. It was only her training that allowed her to barely avoid a black and white striped claw that swiped the air where her head had been a second before. The Siberian launched at her with a silent snarl on her lips. Taylor summoned her lightsaber back and defended herself as best she could.

Though the Force could not capture or predict the projection attacking her, she still called on it to flow through her limbs to strengthen and speed her reaction. It barely allowed her to back up. Her blades couldn't cut the Siberian's claws, but the monster's claws couldn't go through the blades either.

Taylor had no choice but to back away from the unstoppable killer. She found herself having to almost run backwards as the Siberian tried to murder her. Twice she backed into another squad of their team that wasn't fast enough to escape and the Siberian lashed out. Even with Taylor desperately trying to stop her, the Force slid off the projection without effect. Taylor watched as the Siberian easily crushed the skulls of her teammates.

"_Eyes on target. Taking the shot._"

One of Flechette's unstoppable slugs hit the inviolate Siberian. The Siberian popped, and disappeared.

"_Holy fuckballs, it worked_!" Flechette crowed.

"She'll be back," Taylor said.

"Scapetti, report?" Horizon demanded.

"Schertz, Green and Hahn are down," Scapetti said. "Abercrombe and Leatz as well."

Crawler crashed back through a house. Though he barely reached Campanile's knees, he slammed into the changer like a bullet, sending the giant cape into the town's water tower.

"_Little help!"_ Campanile shouted.

"_Hang tight, cavalry is en route."_

Taylor looked up and saw a flash of green from under a distant hood. _Eidolon._

A surge of danger sent her leaping forward in a somersault. She emerged with her sabers ready. She had a split-second to dodge again and slash. Her sabers bit through the chain that attacked the flying buzz-saw to the segmented body of Mannequin. Unlike the Siberian, when she reached for him in the Force, she got a good grip.

The tinker began to jerk about like a marionnette as she crushed the internal organs within his nearly impervious armor. She turned away from the now thoroughly dead tinker and watched as Eidolon levitated the screaming, writhing Crawler into the air. A dimensional portal opened directly under the monster.

In that second, brilliant light brought Taylor's helmet to its darkest setting to offset the white-hot fire that shot up from the portal. She could hear Crawler's laughter as Eidolon dropped him into the portal. A second later, it was done. All around the most powerful cape in the world, buildings burned just from the exposure of what was on the other side of the portal.

Eidolon doused the flames with the wave of a hand, completely untouched.

Without any warning from the Force or her training, agonizing pain ripped through Taylor's chest. She couldn't breathe. Looking down, she saw white fingers protruding from her chest, only to pull back out.

"_Shit, Quintessence is down!"_ Insight screamed. "_Siberian's back on the field! We need evac now!"_

Taylor toppled over, gasping desperately for breath. She couldn't feel her legs at all, as if she'd been cut in half. Through her helmet visor she saw the Siberian licking blood from her fingers.

Behind her, shaking with palsy, walked William Manton. The Siberian touched his shoulder, granting him imperviousness. "They think you can save the world," the old man said to Taylor. His voice shook as much as his hands. "The world can fucking burn…"

The Siberian popped again. The report of Flechette's slug-thrower reached them a second later. And a second after that, a tiny beam of coherent tetrion energy touched William Manton in the chest. For that brief moment he recognized he was dead. The dissolution of his molecules occurred too quickly for any last words.

Hands roughly removed Taylor's helmet. She found herself staring up into the gray visor of Alexandria herself. "Legend, get Panacea now!"

"Door me."

Taylor barely heard. Things were going dark quickly. She gripped Alexandria's hand. _I know how to shape them! I can...I can shape them._

"Hang on. Taylor, hang on…"

_I know how to shape them. All I have to do is let Scion kill me._

* * *

A/N: Spoilers. Fighting the Siberian isn't easy, but this isn't Taylor's end.

A/N 2: Several initial reviews have pointed out that the Siberian cannot grant her invulnerability to Manton himself. That makes perfect sense, and is probably something I skimmed over in the source material since I despised the S9 arc in canon. So consider this a confession of an oopsie, and for the purposes of the story I ask you treat it as an AU element.


	48. The Boy Who Tried

A/N: Review responses are in my forums as normal.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Eight: The Boy Who Tried***

Drifting in the Force between life and death, Taylor watched as Yuki walked somberly through a featureless white hall. She was wearing one of Taylor's shirts over black boxers-the same she wore the previous night.

As she walked, she was nervously pulling her fingers and looking around the featureless white hallway. "Will she ever love me again?"

Almost one with the Force, freed from the constraints of her body and all the hormones that drove it, Taylor smiled sadly. _I never stopped, silly._

In her vision, Yuki stumbled. "Taylor? What's happening?"

"She's been hurt," a familiar voice said. Taylor couldn't sense who was speaking-they were a blind spot in the Force, like the Siberian. But through Yuki she saw Contessa. Through Yuki's eyes, the cape looked even more beautiful than Taylor remembered. _Naturally. Yuki thought she was hot. _"She's dying."

"What? But...you have to save her! You have to!"

"I can't," Contessa said. "Alexandria will try to get Panacea to help her, but it's going to be hard. She's been hurt very badly."

"We've got to do something!" Yuki screamed.

"We are," Contessa said. "We're going to save the world."

Before Taylor could reach out to assure Yuki that even if she died it would be okay, something ripped her from the Force. The violence of the action made her soul ache. The ache became agonizing, unbearable pain. She tried to draw breath to scream, but even that was stolen from her. For one terrible instant, she saw nothing but darkness and felt nothing but agony.

Finally, the moment passed. She opened her mouth and drew in a long, desperate breath. She turned on her side and moaned as someone held her. As the shock of what just happened receded and Taylor fought desperately to find balance in the Force, she heard others speaking.

"...can't stop it. It had some type of failsafe. Probably Manton. It's selecting a target and preparing to fire, and we can't stop it."

Taylor forced her eyes open. Her helmet was off. Holding her was Mujaji. She'd removed her helmet too. "You with us?" her friend asked.

"What...happened?"

"Alexandria fucking kidnapped me is what happened." With effort, Taylor turned her head to stare at a disheveled Panacea, still in her sleeping gown. The gown was covered in prints of Winnie the Poo eating honey or playing with Piglet. For some reason, it brought a smile to her face. "You saved me."

"Yeah," Panacea said grumpily. "That's two you owe me. I'd better get fucking paid. I don't do this shit for free anymore."

Laughing on the verge of mania, Taylor sat up. Mujaji helped her the entire time. Once sat up, she finally saw what Insight and Dragon were talking about.

_Wait, when did they arrive?_

The two Thinkers, one human, one a droid, stood looking over the massive turbolaser cannon that was tracking a target with steady clinks across the night sky. "We can't blow it up?" Taylor asked.

"Rigged," Insight said.

"The energy powering it is an exotic material I've never seen before," Dragon said. "I do recognize the failsafes, though. If we interfere, it will blow. It could take the entire state out."

Mujaji helped Taylor to her feet. She smiled when Taylor gave her a hug. "Everyone safe?"

The Alexandria-package shook her head, her eyes moist. "We lost ten people."

_Ten?_

Mujaji kept an arm around Taylor to make sure she was steady as they walked toward the device. Around them, more PRT teams had arrived from the emergency standby. "What about the Nine?"

"Accounted for," Horizon said. "Thanks to Eidolon, there, even Crawler's handled."

Taylor turned where her leader pointed and saw the entire Triumvirate standing together nearby, talking quietly. "Where'd he send him, the sun?"

"Better. Ashbeast," Mujaji said. "Let those fuckers work it out between themselves."

The power-house of the JORD team got Taylor to Insight and Dragon. Dragon turned to her with a worried frown. "This is your tech, Quintessence."

"What?" With a brief hug of thanks to Mujaji, Taylor leaned forward weakly toward the device, only to feel her gut drop.

It looked like a turbolaser cannon because it _was_ a turbolaser cannon. Only, not just a cannon. Dragon wordlessly pointed to the symbols on a side panel that were counting down. Aurebesh, the final written language of the Coruscant galaxy. It was the language she programmed her droids in, and wrote her operating systems in. And what it told her was that she wasn't looking at just a capital-ship sized turbolaser.

The device used hypermatter. It had ten grams in a magnetic containment field in the center of the firing chamber, ready to be obliterated with an equal amount of anti-matter to be directed in a single contained beam.

"My God," Taylor whispered. "My God. Shit! It's a miniaturized superlaser."

"That's bad?" Insight asked.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Alexandria staring at her through her visor. "Explain."

"This is my tech! This is….this was the technology of the galaxy where Entities last came from. It's a superlaser. It's what the Republic used to kill Entities. Alexandria, this thing won't just crack a continent. It could destroy the world."

"Well, at the moment it's aimed at the Simurgh," Dragon noted with a brittle calm.

Taylor didn't have time to feel the terror that statement should have delivered. Because, if nothing else, history showed that even _thinking_ about trying to target the Endbringers with something that could actually hurt them always resulted in that very Endbringer attacking preemptively.

The Force suddenly screamed in danger, but the warning was redundant. The sky overhead exploded with heat energy and sonic booms as the Simurgh dropped from Orbit at near relativistic speeds.

"Scatter!" Taylor screamed.

The superlaser cannon continued to track toward the Endbringer as she dropped, and then fired. The blinding green light cast the entire state in shadow as it burned through the atmosphere toward the angelic Endbringer.

The Simurgh simply rolled to the side to avoid the powerful blast, and then landed on the now spent weapon. The Force groaned as an alien, intrusive scream permeated through it. Taylor tried to push it back, but the power of it overwhelmed her instantly.

The Triumvirate attacked the Endbringer without hesitation. The JORD team retreated as houses all around them exploded almost simultaneously and shot into the air, spinning around the Endbringer in the grips of unbelievable telekinesis as she began changing the superlaser into something else.

Something far worse.

Mujaji was using her flight to help the JORD agents get to a safe distance, if there was such a thing. Dragon was carrying Insight with Horizon using her jump jets to follow. It was like trying to walk in a hurricane. They were insignificant compared to the power just the Triumvirate brought to the table.

The three elder heroes fought with a desperate intensity Taylor hadn't even seen in Brockton Bay. Legend's lasers were themselves almost as powerful as a turbolaser cannon. Eidolon deployed a strange gravity power that ripped whole sections of the Simurgh's funnel of debris from the sky, opening windows for Alexandria to speed in and strike her.

The attacks bought precious time to flee.

As she ran, though, Taylor was aware of the screaming through the Force. It didn't just ring in her mind, she could feel it actually burning at her Force presence, as it trying to dissolve her very essence. But within that signal, she felt something else.

Something familiar-a numbingly powerful pulse of energy that was more than a radio wave but less than true telepathy. It wasn't part of the signal the Simurgh used to broadcast with her 'song'. Instead, it was a powerful signal being transmitted to the Endbringer itself. And unlike the last time Taylor sensed it, this time she could actually see where the streams of hatred, self-loathing and jealousy came from. The emotions she sensed flowing into the Simurgh, driving it like a remote control, were human.

And they were coming from Eidolon.

_Eidolon was driving the Endbringers._

She tapped her come switch. "This is Quintessence to anyone who can hear me. I need the Triumvirate on a channel right now or everyone dies."

"_Quintessence this is Oracle. I'm patching you through to Protectorate main com. Protectorate Main, this is ORACLE with JORD. Simurgh has descended on Dunning, Nebraska. Triumvirate and JORD on site, no established communication. Quintessence needs priority access to Triumvirate coms."_

Taylor stumbled as she watched the titanic fight. She considered trying to join, but knew that even with the Force as her ally there was little she could do to the Simurgh. The Force was almost rendered moot by her scream. At that moment, Taylor doubted she could have even levitated a pencil.

"_Oracle, this is Protectorate Main. Copy, Endbringer in action, Triumvirate on site. Quintessence, hold while we connect you."_

Taylor didn't have long to wait. A stressed, angry voice said that was most definitely not Eidolon said, "_We're a little busy."_

"Alexandria, all of you, listen to me." Taylor said. "It's Eidolon. I sensed it in Brockton Bay, but I'm sure now. The Endbringers are...fuck. _They're part of Eidolon's power. He's unconsciously ordering them to attack and destroy!_"

In the sky, the most powerful cape alive dropped from the air for a moment.

Alexandria said nothing. Legend actually reacted by shooting _more_ lasers at the winged, angelic monster.

"_That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,"_ an deeply angry male voice snapped. "_I've been fighting these things since they emerged._"

Taylor's mind felt like it was bleeding from the Simurgh's song. _"_Because you needed a challenge. I read your biography. There wasn't a single cape in the world that could challenge you. You didn't have a really good fight until Behemoth emerged in '92. Eidolon, I can sense you sending the signal! You're sending it right now. It's carried on the same telepathic wave that… oh shit!"

The Simurgh was evidently tired of Taylor interfering with the fight. So she sent the bell of a water tower shooting at her. Desperately, Taylor tried to summon the Force, but her power burned under the Simurgh's cry, rendering her all but powerless.

Suddenly Campanile blew up to his full height and shoulder-checked the massive bell. He cried in pain as his shoulder snapped, but it diverted the tower bell enough to allow Taylor to kick in her jump jet and fly free.

The air between Taylor and the Simurgh suddenly shimmered. Other heroes had arrived-the tall, statuesque form of Narwhal descended between them. A flying cape Taylor didn't recognize deposited another cape and between he and Narwhal, the shield expanded even further. Still more capes arrived blasting the Simurgh with an array of exotic and impossible powers.

Abruptly Eidolon was there in front of her. To Taylor's shock he ripped off his mask to reveal the same ugly, misshapen nose she saw in her visions. His eyes were red and his lips pulled back in a rictus of rage. "Why did you say that! Why did you lie like that?"

_Rage. Self-hatred and a crushing sense of worthlessness._ Face to face, the turmoil and hopelessness in the man's mind struck almost as hard as the Simurgh's telepathic scream. The feelings brought tears to her eyes.

"Please, let me help you," she whispered. "The world needs you. Please…"

He stood staring at her, a tear running down a pockmarked cheek. "They've killed millions…"

"You couldn't have known. Please, please let me help you!"

As more and more capes arrived to battle the Endbringer, Eidolon stared at her with a look of such despair it was almost more than she could bear. Finally, though, he nodded. He didn't move as she brought her hands to his face.

With the contact came a memory, so clear that she felt as if she were there. A young Contessa, in a school girl uniform, sat next to a tall, stately black woman in a white coat. They sat at a table across from a wiry-thin, acne-scarred young man with thinning brown hair and a bent spine in a wheelchair.

"_You tried to take your life. The army, it was something you wanted_?"

The question almost broke Taylor out of her meditation, so much so that she missed what he said in return. When she returned, she heard the young man responding. There was an intense, desperate emotion in his words. "_I wanted to go do something of my own will. Take charge, take action. Stop living a life where everything is decided for me._"

"_By joining the army_?" the woman in the labcoat asked.

The young man's short bark of laughter sounded frantic and utterly without humor. "_I know. Stupid._"

"_You wanted independence. I can't promise it. In fact, if this deal with the devil goes through, it might be something I demand from you. Your assistance, your aid. I need a soldier_."

"We still need a soldier," Taylor whispered. "We still need you."

Tears were running down his craggy cheeks. He'd lived through the memory of that one moment in time that changed his life. "Do it," he said over the din of an increasingly desperate Endbringer battle.

With a cry at the sheer effort, Taylor dove into that maelstrom of dark emotions that surrounded the core of Eidolon. It burned at her mind almost as strongly as the Simurgh's scream. There were no visual impulses; no artistic metaphors to explain the connection. Only pure emotion and a seemingly endless supply of powers, as if he were an entity himself.

Emotion. Psychic energy almost like a song.

Almost like the Simurgh's scream.

Touching it with her own mind hurt horribly. She moaned just from the touch, but pushed on anyway. She pushed, and shaped, and pushed some more at the core of dark emotions that clouded Eidolon's life. And with each attempt, the tenor of the emotions and the connection he shared with the Simurgh changed.

Until, abruptly, Taylor pushed through. She pushed through to a room, with a man in a rocking chair wearing a uniform. Little David sat on his lap, staring at the purple heart on the man's chest. _"I want to be like you, Dad."_

The little boy was half the size of his peers. He was six, but looked four because of the seizures that stunted his growth and made it so hard to run and play. "_Can I be?"_

The father looked down, his smile only surface deep to hide a crushing grief. "_You can always try, David. No matter what the world throws at you, you can still pick yourself up and try."_

"_Will you hold my hand? Sometimes it's hard to run."_

"_Yeah, son. I'll hold your hand."_

The cloud broke. Taylor was barely aware of how she and Eidolon both fell to their knees. She wasn't aware of Legend and Alexandria both desperately trying to hold the Simurgh back from completing her version of a superlaser. All she was aware of was an endless well of powers, and a clumsy, uncertain boy still not sure what to do with it.

Her mind joined with his in a single gestalt. In a way, she held his hands. _Like this._

She showed him, and he followed with a look of childlike wonder on his face, as they began to tune the signal of his power. As they tuned his power, the Simurgh's song stopped burning so intensely through the Force.

They continued, shaping not just his powers, but his control of them. It shocked Taylor in a way that Eidolon had never had true control of his powers. The shard that infected him selected the powers _it_ thought he needed, but even then he never had the time to truly learn or control them. His powers were such that he could hurt himself with them. The limitations that other capes had-Manton limits-did not extend to his.

Because his was a power that was never intended to be released.

Abruptly the Simurgh's song ended. Taylor's ears stopped ringing with the battle raging nearby. The silence that followed felt numbing, but all that mattered was the heavy older face she held so delicately in her hands.

David Eisenhorn stared back at her, his jaw agape and his cheeks glistening with tears. "I never knew," he whispered. "I wasn't losing power; I was losing control. I can _feel_ them."

Gloved hands reached up to her own. He was unabashedly weeping as he stared at her. "They said you were going to save the world. And...and I think you just did. You saved the world by saving _me!"_

He glanced down where he'd thrown his mask and hood. He quickly put them back on and rose effortlessly in the air.

Taylor sat back on her rump, exhausted and hurting. "I'm not sure that's what they meant," she muttered to herself.

She turned to follow where he flew and saw a sight she never thought she'd see.

The Simurgh hung in the air, perfectly still, over a radically altered superlaser cannon. The capes that arrived backed off when she stopped responding to their attacks. Taylor watched as Eidolon flew to Alexandria and Legend, excitedly talking. He pointed back in Taylor's direction twice, then to the Simurgh.

Abruptly her view was blocked by the shimmering violet scales of Narwhal. Taylor looked up at the woman who, a year and a half ago, tried so hard to kill her. "What'd you do?" the Canadian cape said sharply.

"I cured Eidolon," Taylor said.

"What was wrong with him?"

Chuckling tiredly, Taylor said, "Sorry. Healer-patient privilege. Wouldn't want to violate HIPPA or anything."

The beautiful cape stared at her for a long moment, but she herself laughed. "I was wrong about you, back then. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I was wrong too. Just had some growing up to do."

Narwhal leaned down and offered her a hand. In the sudden, blessedly silence of the Force, she sensed only exhaustion and chagrin in the woman. She accepted the hand, and together they began walking tiredly toward the Simurgh.

"Did he use his power to stop the Simurgh somehow?"

"Something like that."

A rumble of the earth below them made several of the attending capes share frightened expression. Taylor opened her still raw mind to the Force, but felt only a general sense of unease, rather than true danger.

That didn't explain the volcano that suddenly erupted in a field outside the city.

"Holy fuck!" Narwhal shouted. Hers was lost in a chorus of similar shouts of dismay and alarm as Behemoth crawled up out of the ground. Rather than attack, though, he just emerged to his full forty-foot height and went perfectly still. A craggy, rock-like creature, his sole red eye glared out unblinkingly across the plain.

A pillar of water shot up from the nearby Dismal River. More capes screamed their alarm as Leviathan climbed out of the River. Somehow, the engine of chaos had used rivers to reach the center of the continental United States in just minutes.

"What's going on?" another cape shouted.

Taylor looked and saw Chevalier, standing amidst a team of heroes.

_Let's run with it. _"I telepathically showed Eidolon how to use his powers better," Taylor said, loud enough for some of the nearby heroes to hear. "Including a new power that overwrites the Endbringer's programming. He's controlling them now."

Chevalier was the fourth highest ranked cape in the Protectorate. He turned and stared at her for a long moment, before marching right up to where she still stood beside Narwhal. "What did you say?"

"I helped Eidolon gain control of the Endbringers," Taylor said, meeting his gaze squarely.

Incredulity began to spread in a wave as word passed through the assembled capes. But with it also came growing exaltation and relief. Not just that this particular Endbringer battle was over, but that future battles may not happen.

On the crest of it, though, Taylor still felt a sense of unease in the Force. She couldn't understand why, though. Around her, as realization dawned on them that Taylor was right, and that the Endbringers weren't attacking, capes began hugging each other in relief and joy. Narwhal flew into the air, looking for a friend to share her own elation with.

Taylor just stood in the field, staring at the three giants.

"Hey."

She turned to see a pale, stumbling Campanile approaching. He held his shoulder as he moved.

"Oh, damn. Just sit down, Campanile." He sat gratefully as Taylor started to immediately heal his shoulder. "That was incredibly brave of you, what you did back there," she told him.

"Well, I _am _a hero," he said dryly. "So, ah...you friends with Narwhal?"

"She tried to kill me."

"Back then, right? What about now? Think you could introduce us?"

Taylor snorted. "Really?"

He turned and smiled sadly. "You know how hard it is to get a date when you're eight feet tall? I might have luck with someone only a foot shorter than I am, instead of three feet shorter."

Unable to help herself, Taylor leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I'll see if I can set something up."

"Thanks, Q. I can't wait to tell mom I fought the Simurgh. You'll tell her I saved you, right?"

"You bet."

The thought of inflicting Campanile's mom on Narwhal brought a brief smile to her face. It didn't last much longer than it took to heal her teammate. The sense of danger in the Force was becoming more pronounced. She looked around until she saw Dragon with Insight in the middle of a foundation that had been stripped clean. She walked quickly toward them.

Insight looked worried and battered; Dragon's face was blank as only a droid could manage. "This doesn't feel right," Insight said.

"No, it doesn't," Taylor said. "I want you to grab the team and go. Where's Horizon?"

Sarah shook her head. "She was trying to pull Ogden out of some wreckage. The Simurgh pulled them both up. They're signals...I'm sorry."

The news momentarily stole Taylor's breath. Alexandria might have been the first Protectorate cape beside Nutcracker to believe in her, but Horizon was the first to happily work with her. Still, the loss felt oddly distant, as if she were still numb.

_Because the danger_. They were in danger, but Taylor couldn't understand from the Force alone why. She looked to her friends, but the two still had their helmets. Taylor couldn't see their faces, and Sarah's voice came through with an electronic modifier designed to disguise her natural tone.

She had no idea where her own helmet was, but she had secondary coms in her vambraces. She clicked the send signal. "This is Quintessence to JORD. All surviving personnel fall back to suit number 3 for evac. Priority 2."

"_Quint, Scapetti. We're cut to shit and the fight's over. Repeat that, Priority 2?"_

"Scapetti, my power's telling me something's wrong. Get our people out of here. Now."

He didn't argue. He'd worked with her too long not to take her seriously. "_Roger. On our way."_

Seeing her team on their way, Taylor started walking tiredly toward where the Triumvirate stood talking. Or where Eidolon talked and the other two listened. Legend looked incredulous; Alexandria appeared almost irritated. Her helmet shifted slightly so that she could see Taylor walking toward them. Taylor saw the woman's back stiffen as she sensed Taylor's unease. She looked as if she were about to ask why, but it became moot.

In a bloom of golden light, Scion appeared over Nebraska. And for the first time since he arrived on earth, he actually wore an expression on his face.

He looked angry.

* * *

*Some portions of dialogue were from Interlude 27 of _Worm_ by John McCrae.

A/N: Quintessence will conclude this coming Saturday with the final chapter and epilogue.


	49. The Golden Man

A/N: Chap 48 review responses are in my forums as normal. And with this, I present the final chapter and epilogue of Quintessence. Thanks to all of you who read along with me. There will be a note at the end.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine: The Golden Man**

Taylor saw that Charles Scapetti's helmet was cracked in half. She could see a trickle of blood on his face as he half-carried the one-legged Davis across the wreckage. He didn't look over his shoulder at where the golden man hung in the sky, glaring down at the Endbringers. Tso had another man over one shoulder, and half-carried Rad Callister with the other.

Only a handful of the rest of their 20-man squad followed. It not the Slaughterhouse Nine, then the brief fight against the Simurgh ravaged the JORD team. A stunned, shaken Panacea followed them.

Behind Taylor, Mujaji floated down with Flechette in her arms. "What's going on?"

Taylor turned to her cape team. "Horizon's gone. I don't think Scion is friendly. We need to get the team and Panacea evacuated."

Taylor had been selective on just how much she told her team. Insight knew everything, as did Dinah. Horizon knew enough; the rest of the team didn't. She could see how the idea of Scion as a hostile made the others tense in alarm.

Insight reached out and gripped Taylor's hand a moment before she jumped to Davis's other side and helped carry her to a waiting transport. "Everyone to the transport," Insight called.

Panacea lingered by Taylor. "You won't need me?"

"We'll need you alive and safe," Taylor said, before sending the other woman on her way.

Campanile stood with Mujaji and Flechette, staring down at Taylor as their PRT agents and Panacea left with Insight and Dragon. "Scion is hostile?" He made no move to evacuate, and neither did Mujaji or Flechette.

The many capes that gathered to fight the Simurgh gathered in confused clumps around the scoured wreckage of the destroyed town, unsure what was happening. Taylor made her way to Narwhal and Chevalier, and her own team followed. The two capes were talking in quiet, urgent tones.

Chevalier saw her first, his face hidden behind his knightly-inspired helm. "Do you know what the hell is going on?"

"Scion is hostile," Taylor said. The words sounded repetitious-strange sounds that tallied together to a terrible, horrifying meaning. She sounded much calmer than she felt. Around her, the Force thrummed with danger so strongly she could almost taste it.

Mujaji stepped to her side. "Q, are you shitting us? Scion's hostile?"

Unable to help herself, Taylor took her friend's hand. "He's always been," she said softly. "But I know how to save us."

Her voice must have caught, because Mujaji frowned intently at her. "Girl, what are you talking about?"

"I know how to stop Scion," Taylor said. "I know how to save the world." Turning, she hugged her friend tightly. Then Flechette. The other cape stiffened a little, like she did any time Taylor hugged her.

Finally, sensing her desire, Campanile knelt down so she could hug him as well. She then turned and left them, walking toward the golden glow.

Ahead, Scion was staring down at the unmoving Endbringers with a sneer. The glow around him seemed to be pulsing. With each pulse, the sense of danger grew stronger. All the noise of the chatter fell away. All Taylor heard was the noise of the wind in her ears, and the whisper of a long-dead master. _For love._

Her feet dragged her forward. Her eyes stung and her heart yearned for her to go back; to run with Insight. She didn't; she continued forward toward the Zizzed-up superlaser. The Triumvirate members were floating nearby, perhaps a dozen feet above the ground, and were watching Scion in tense silence.

_I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die._ The words echoed in her mind with each step. She moved under the three Triumvirate heroes until she stood just feet from the Simurgh. Being so close to such a terrible mechanism of destruction should have scared her. But she was already terrified of what came next.

"I don't want to die," she whispered aloud. "I don't want to die."

_I don't want my family to die either._ Even the sound of the wind faded from her ears.

"I love you," she whispered aloud. Her words echoed in her mind, drowning out the mantra of fear. She couldn't even say who she meant, only that it was true.

Her breathing evened. The Force surged through her like never before, and with a thought she rose into the sky. She thought she heard Alexandria say something, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was Scion.

In the Force, his power was beyond description. What she saw was the smallest, weakest reflection, like a single beam of color from a prism instead of the sun itself. Gold eyes watched her from a perfectly sculpted face, a black beard bristling from his chin. His body looked like a god's, clad in a skin-tight white unitard that had old splatters of blood and dirt on it. He'd never changed it; never cared to.

His body was nothing-just an avatar of sculpted flesh originally designed to facilitate communications with target species. She drifted closer until she felt the odd heat from his golden glow. She was as close to him as any human had ever been to Scion's avatar. With the Force surging, she spoke both verbally and mentally.

"I carry a part of you in me. An administration shard. It's powerful; I've trained it with all the knowledge of your last galaxy and all the power of the Force itseld. And I offer it back to you so you can be stronger."

Despite the Force; despite her determination, her eyes watered and her heart thud painfully as a golden hand reached out and touched the side of her head. She was going to die. She was going to die so that all those she loved would live. It was the best death she could have hoped for.

_LET IT DIE WITH YOU._

Agony beyond human understanding ripped through her mind and body. Until, just as quickly, it was gone and Taylor was falling. Impossibly strong arms caught her and she blinked back tears and looked over Alexandria's shoulder just in time to see Behemoth's hand closing on Scion's body. A blast of golden light sent shards of the Endbringer's rocky flesh flying. The powerful avatar surged up with silent rage and struck Behemoth under the chin so powerfully the shockwave of the blow sent even Alexandria tumbling as she carried Taylor.

Around them, capes screamed in horror at the titanic exchange.

"What happened?" the heroine demanded.

"He rejected me," Taylor sobbed. She felt shame at her relief. Shame that she didn't die. "It's how the last galaxy shaped them! The Bendu masters shaped their own shards, and then sacrificed themselves to the Entities to shape them. But he must have known. He won't take my shard in!"

The air shook as Scion turned to attack Eidolon personally, only for Leviathan to slash at him. The air around the hero shimmered for a moment before a fourth and fifth endbringer appeared, each thirty-feet tall and defying description, to create a buffer between Scion and Eidolon.

Alexandria swooped down to the ground where Mujaji, Flechette and Campanile watched.

Nearby, Narwhal screamed over the thunderous fight. "What the hell's going on?"

"Scion is hostile!" Alexandria shouted back the obvious. "Eidolon controls the Endbringers, but Scion is hostile. Spread the word, we need every cape in the country who can fight to join us. Scion is beyond a Class S threat! The whole world is in danger! Every world is in danger!"

Even as Alexandrai said that, Scion ripped one of the new Endbringer's head off and used it as a club against Behemoth. More Endbringers appeared, attacking him. He lashed out with brilliant beams of golden light that did more damage against the Endbringer material than every cape combined had ever done since Behemoth first emerged decades before.

Alexandria herself leapt back into action. Mujaji stared in horror. "The fuck? What the fuck! Q, what the hell is going on? Why's the savior of kittens suddenly killing Endbringers? Why is he hostile all of the sudden?"

It made a horrible sense, though. His partner was gone, so what did he have to live for? But now that Eidolon wielded his own weapons against him?

"He hates us," Taylor said aloud. "He's going to kill the world. We have to fight him!"

"How?" Mujaji screamed. "He just fucking one-shot a fucking Endbringer! How the fuck are we supposed to fight that?"

Taylor took her friend's mask in her own. _"_We fight together. Take Flechette airborne. She's still our biggest gun. Campanile, I need you to keep me mobile."

"What will you be doing?" Campanile asked.

"Meditating. Helping. Hurry, go!"

The word was quickly spreading as more and more of the assembled capes began to prepare themselves for a battle beyond anything they expected. Campanile held Taylor like a baby as he expanded to his full thirty-feet, while Mujaji carried Flechette bridal style into the air.

In Campanile's massive arms, Taylor closed her eyes as she sank into the Force. She felt the lives of all the capes around, with more coming. She felt their fear at the terrible sight of new, terrifying Endbringers fighting Scion, and knew.

_Scion is the enemy of the world,_ she broadcast through the Force. _He will destroy every human in every dimension of earth until the whole race is extinct. If we don't stop him now, untold trillions die. Fight together!_

It was not a compulsion. She could not command those around them. Instead, she shared what had to be done, and showed them all how to do it. She'd purposely used Battle Meditation before with JORD, but never like this. Still, the Force flowed, and the gathered capes responded. As more and more capes appeared, drawn by the call of the Triumvirate, they too fell into place.

The Simurgh fired her tinker-tech weapon, firing from below Scion so that the beam didn't split the continental crust. Scion avoided it with contemptuous ease, only to be struck by the combined mass assault of over a hundred blaster capes. The attack didn't move him at all. He responded with a golden bloom that would have vaporized each of the attacking capes if not for a new Endbringer appearing. This one appeared to be a giant, mantis-shaped shadow that absorbed the glowing power before wrapping itself around the entity's avatar.

Scion ripped it apart easily, only for the most powerful brutes in the world to slam into him, led by Alexandria herself. They broke off almost immediately in time for the Simurgh to fire her weapon again. Once again Scion avoided it.

Flechette fired her gun from Mujaji's arms a quarter mile away. A tiny golden dot appeared Scion's shoulder. He jerked back, showing more reaction to her empowered slug than he did to Behemoth. Unfortunately, the reaction was rage. A massive blast of golden light pierced another of Eidolon's endbringers and headed right before Flechette.

Mujaji burst into a streak of lightning as she accelerated as best she could to avoid the beam. Scion's attack gouged the earth behind them, burning a swath a mile long and hundreds of feet deep.

The Simurgh took the opportunity to fire her weapon again. Scion grabbed the scaled down, severely damaged Behemoth and shoved him into the beam. The weapon was so unbelievably powerful that it shattered Behemoth's black, still-living skeleton. The energy released collapsed the earth below them and sent walls of heat and kinetic energy blasting out almost as powerful as a nuclear explosion. Every cape capable of generating shields did so.

Campanile turned and ran. Behind him, out of Taylor's sight, she felt almost half the capes in the theatre die instantly. The ground shook violently; only Campanile's huge size gave him the stability not to fall. He cried out in pain, but he kept holding Taylor protectively in the lee of his chest.

A wave of dust and debris obscured their vision before a massive wave of force thrust all the dust and debris to the ground. Taylor wasn't sure it was Eidolon using his own power, or the Simurgh's telekinesis, but it didn't matter anymore.

Campanile stumbled and fell, shrinking quickly as he did so. Taylor had no choice but to jump out of his arms. Doing so, she turned and saw with horror that his back had been terribly burned. So badly, she could see bits of bone where his shoulder blades should be.

"Force, I can't heal this fast enough!" she said. "Campanile! Are you awake?"

He didn't respond. She reached out desperately, and someone answered. Strider appeared with a harried grimace. He looked at her, then Campanile, and a second later the two men were both gone. Taylor stood alone in a field half a mile from the crater that was all that remained of Dunning, Nebraska.

Despite the destruction, the fight continued. From her distance, she saw how Scion lifted a hand and shattered the Simurgh's weapon. The Endbringer shot up into the sky with a terrific sonic boom to avoid the golden bloom of the entity's matter-destroying beam. Another Endbringer suddenly trapped Scion in a cylinder of energy.

Eidolon was using his new powers to buy time for the surviving capes to regroup. For all his power, though, Scion had more. The entity shattered the cylinder of light and then ripped the Endbringer which created it in half. The surviving blasters fired their various powers, but this time Scion anticipated the attack and negated the energy of the blow with his own attack. Desperately, Taylor sent a warning through the Force and scattered the flying capes, but once again she felt dozens dying in the Force.

Other capes were still arriving through their various means of transport. She sensed thoughts in dozens of languages, and various powers she'd never studied. Massive roots shot from the ground to grab Scion, only to burn instantly.

The sky flashed as streaks of lightning buffeted the golden man; he just shrugged the blow away.

Endbringers attacked in perfect time with each other and the army of capes around them, and each time Scion easily brushed the attacks aside. The sky ruptured with exotic powers, sheets of flame and beams of energy. Nebraska itself seemed to rumble as the ground split and flame and monsters rose up from its depths.

No matter the power; no matter the strength, Scion's golden glow never dimmed. Even when Flechette's weapon fired, he anticipated the projectile and moved faster than light to avoid it.

Taylor couldn't help but remember her visions of the lost galaxy; of worlds having to burn to destroy the entities, because nothing less than a planet-destroying weapon could hurt them. There was no power, nor weapon, that could hurt Scion without also destroying the world around them. The air seemed to boil around her despite the fight drifting away from her. The ground as far as she could see had been burned almost to glass.

There was no way they could win.

_Master, I failed you._

The sun bloomed directly in front of her. Taylor blinked back tears from the painful light and looked up at Scion. He stared down with empty golden eyes, though he had a sneer of contempt on his face. Without Mujaji or Alexandria to guide her, Taylor knew it was over. She was going to die, but she _couldn't save those she loved._

Scion lifted his hand and golden light bloomed, only to cease just as quickly. His silent snarl of rage faded; his jaw hung open as he stared at some point behind Taylor.

Taylor scrambled away, tripping over a ridge of charred ground as clumsily as if she never had the Force. She saw immediately what captured Scion's attention.

_A silver entity hung in the air before him._

The being was as perfect in her female form as Scion was in his male form. Perfectly silver, with long, blowing white hair and a sculpted body that would have made artists weep, she stared with a blank expression at Scion. Taylor opened her mind, but the power she felt from this new entity was just a fraction of that of Scion.

_CONCERN_.

Everything stopped. The wind ceased to blow. Dust motes stood frozen in the air. Taylor's mind rang with the alien concept. Not a word, per say, but the concept of it. It felt as if a hundred thousand minds all thought their own version of the word, in their own context, and broadcast it with power enough to make Taylor's mind numb.

_AGITATION._

Scion's response was an order of magnitude more powerful.

_PROPOSAL_.

_AGREEMENT._

The two avatars drifted together. Taylor scrambled away as the air around them shimmered. Windows through existence itself opened, revealing scintillating creatures beyond description. One was vastly larger than the other, which moved sluggishly. Taylor's numb mind throbbed as the two entities crashed together, just as the silver feminine avatar hugged the golden one.

Abruptly Taylor was in the air, so fast she barely had time to notice. Alexandria's costume was in tatters, and her helmet cracked badly enough that it barely stayed on her head. More concerning, her left leg ended at the knee. There was no blood, but she'd obviously taken a beating. Despite that, her arms held Taylor firmly.

"Tell me what you sense!" she said.

"A second entity," Taylor said. "It's the partner. Somehow, she's alive. But weak. She's...mating? Sharing? I don't understand it. How?"

"I don't know," Alexandria said. "I've lost contact with Cauldron."

Over Alexandria's shoulder, Taylor saw that the two entities had become consumed in a cloud of silver and gold light. But from the storm, Taylor felt a strange sensation. Familiar, and loving. A warning.

"Alexandria, stop!"

The cape obeyed without question. Still held in the woman's arms, Taylor looked down at the vambrace of her uniform. She touched it and saw it still worked. "Mujaji, you still with us?"

"_Q? Thank God, you're alive_!"

"You still have Flechette?"

"_Yeah. Where's Campanile_?"

"He was hurt, bad. Strider evacuated him. I need you both with me. Come fast!"

"_Honing in on your signal_."

She flew from the west, arriving in a burst of lightning with Flechette still in her arms. Both looked tattered from the fight. In the distance, Taylor saw the remaining Endbringers somehow trapped in a golden dome that held most of the other capes as well, including Eidolon.

"I don't know if the others are dead!" Mujaji said. "The dome can't be breached."

Alexandria made a point of lifting her amputated leg. "I noticed. Quintessence, what's the plan?"

"We wait. Please take us down."

They arrived on the blasted, blackened ground. Taylor walked over to Flechette, and to the other girl's alarm removed her helmet. "Lily, we're going to save the world. Will you trust me?"

The half-Japanese cape never seemed as comfortable around her as Taylor hoped. Worse, she knew exactly why. Lily was attracted to Taylor, but knew that the attraction was not reciprocal. It formed a barrier the two could not easily breach. Now, though? Now it was just the two of them. Taylor stepped behind the cape and placed her hands on the back of her head.

In the Force, she whispered, _Dinah, I need you._

_I'm here._ Just like with Coil, the precognitive's power melded seamlessly with Taylor's from halfway across the country, as if she stood at Taylor's side.

"We need to wait," Taylor said, sure of herself as her power merged with Dinah's.

In the distance, the silver and gold cloud had condensed. The silver avatar writhed sensually against the gold, but that was just an illusion. Through the ruptures of space and time, Taylor saw the new entity coiling around the golden one, gorging on its shards without any resistance.

Until there was resistance. The golden avatar pushes the silver away. Beyond reality, the older entity shuddered and exploded with violent energy, blasting the silver Entity back. Where before the silver entity was but a fraction of the size of the gold, now it was equal or larger.

_INSINUATION. PLAGUE._

Accusing, enraged. Taylor trembled and wept as Scion's rage burned through her mind and body. The silver responded.

_PREY_.

Taylor knew. At that moment, as if all the realities of existence opened before her, she knew. The Force merged her and Dinah's joined precognition with Lily's trajectory power. The cape touched the slug within the chamber of her weapon and empowered it. She didn't aim at Scion, but rather at a point between the two avatars.

Her trigger finger pulled; the empowered slug shot out from the barrel of her weapon.

Scion's attention was on the entity that betrayed him. Though it had feasted on his form, he remained more powerful. His avatar surged forward, consumed by the need to destroy his betrayer. Beyond reality, his true form did the same.

The empowered, unstoppable slug struck the back of the golden avatar's head. A tiny dot of gold appeared right at the base of his spine. The avatar went perfectly still, paralyzed. Beyond reality, the Entity spasmed so violently the world it rested upon cracked. Scion wasn't dead-Taylor knew it lived. But she also knew, somehow, that the point she'd wounded was the nexus of the entity's avatar-that point that connected the two through the dimensions. Damaging it harmed both.

And in that moment Silver struck. Her avatar once against hugged Scion, while beyond reality her own true form began writhing again over the paralyzed, larger form. Taylor cried out in pain as she felt planets crack and suns die in dimensions far from theirs, torn apart by the violence of one entity consuming the other.

"What's happening?" Alexandria demanded.

Taylor's knees buckled. It was Mujaji who caught her. The cape had removed her helmet and stared down at Taylor in alarm.

"It's…" She couldn't find words.

She didn't have time to. Silver light shone over them. Alexandria burst backward. Lily stumbled behind Mujaji, but Mujaji refused to leave Taylor's side. The perfect, beautiful silver avatar floated to the ground, shrinking and changing.

Taylor's eyes stung. Though it hurt, she forced herself back to her feet as she stared down at Yuki's perfect, porcelain face. "How?"

"I dreamed your dream," Yuki said. Only, it wasn't Yuki. Her voice was just one in a chorus of millions. "Contessa came to me. She knew you couldn't shape Scion. He knew what you were."

"The other was dead."

"Injured," Yuki said softly. "But I could heal her. You taught me how, remember? I healed her with the Force, and she took my shard to heal the rest. And we took Contessa's shard to restore our vision. We're together, now. We know what to do."

Taylor's knees buckled again. "God. Yuki, you…"

"We understand so much more," Yuki whispered. Her eyes had a silver glow, even though her body looked completely normal. Her smile looked wondrous. "We see so much. This world is so small. It's better this way, we think. There are still two others out there like him. Other worlds in danger. We have a mission. Now we can protect you forever, Taylor."

She knelt down and took Taylor's face in her hands. Her skin felt hard as diamond and gold as ice as she pulled Taylor forward. She delivered a kiss, but her lips did not bend against Taylor's. It felt like kissing granite.

Yuki frowned sadly. "Not the heroic last kiss we hoped for," she said. "It doesn't hurt like we were afraid. Isn't that odd? I'm never going to see you again. You'll die and pass to dust and it will be a blink of the eye to us. But we still love you. We remember that much. Good-bye."

Her form shimmered back into silver. She glanced into the distance, and with a lazy wave of her hand the golden dome that captured the endbringers and capes blinked out of existence.

And then so did Yuki herself.

Taylor collapsed to the ground in a heap, too numb to cry, as the enormity of what just happened settled in.

"Is it over?" Mujaji asked.

"Yes," Alexandria said. "God, I think it's actually over."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

**Epilogue: Beer and a Burger**

On the television, the worried BBC report detailed the latest aggressions of the Chinese Union Imperial and their expansion across the South China Sea. The talking heads were predicting an armed conflict within months.

Most of the people in the beach-front bar didn't care. A handful of tourists sat drinking rum as the sun boiled the horizon. In their midst, taking full advantage of the lower legal drinking age, Taylor sat nursing a glass of aged, spiced rum while working slowly on a burger.

The food of Stinny's Fry and Grill wasn't the best. But it was right on the beach, and the owner didn't care that her eyes were pitch-black. She wore an easily-removed, rainbow-colored skirt over her black one-piece bathing suit as she ate.

When the newcomer arrived, a few of the barflies noticed. She was tall for a woman-as tall as Taylor was. She actually had a similar build in her own bathing suit. What set her apart was the clearly prosthetic leg and the scarred, glass eye. She walked without a limp to the bar.

"You have Glendullen?" Rebecca Costa-Brown, now openly known as Alexandria, asked.

"For the lovely lady? I have a whole bottle."

Stinny would have flirted with a rock if it looked like it had tits. Rebecca placed two fifties on the bar, and a mostly full bottle of 15-year aged whiskey and a glass took their place. She poured a shot and downed it like water. "How's your vacation going?"

"It _was_ going fine," Taylor said. "Didn't you retire?"

"I did." Another shot. The alcohol had almost no impact on her, Taylor knew. The older cape drank for the taste and the brief burn.

"The President asked a favor. It came with a pardon. It seemed like the best option."

_Pardon_.

The fallout from Scion's death, and Eidolon's new control of the eight surviving endbringers (out of twenty one, Taylor was horrified to find out) rocked the world. More importantly, because of the nature of Alexandria's power, she could not be healed. There was no hiding the fact she'd lost her leg, either in her cape persona, or her civilian one.

So almost as soon as the battle was over, Alexandria flew to Washington, D.C., and debriefed the President of _everything_ she had ever done, as Alexandria, as Chief Director Costa-Brown of the PRT, and as an agent of Cauldron. She resigned, and let him know she would accept any prosecution he decided to pursue.

And Taylor?

Taylor went to the Bahamas.

"So, no charges then?"

"No. Not for any of us. The rest of Cauldron didn't survive. When your friend ascended, she harvested all the shards in the facility and destroyed it."

Rebecca didn't particularly sound upset over the loss. Taylor sipped her rum and took a bite of her burger as the older woman downed another shot.

"So, what's next?"

"Our intelligence believes China is going to begin military action within the next month," the woman said. "They're targeting everything from Japan to Australia. They'll be deploying both mundane and Yang-Ban forces. World War Three. And as of this morning, I'm the general in charge of the United States Parahuman Militia. I want you on board as one of my commanders."

"You remember I'm only seventeen, right?"

Rebecca snorted. "I remember you commanded a force of almost twelve hundred capes in the fight against Scion. You were commanding me, Legend and Eidolon at the end. Power can go a long way to making up any of the inadequacies of age. And age or not, you are very wise, Taylor. Wise. Kind. Smart. Just the type of person I need."

"How long do I have to think about it?"

"Until the first shots are fired." She downed another shot-the bottle was gone. She stood, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

Taylor laughed bitterly. "My ex-girlfriend ascended to godhood. All things considered? I'm doing okay."

A compassionate squeeze of her hand was Alexandria's response. She looked out over the beech, grinning as she saw something Taylor couldn't see. "Enjoy these days, Taylor. Enjoy this time. We're warriors, you and me. But the true warriors are those who enjoy what peace they're offered."

With that, she lifted off the floor entirely and quietly flew out of the bar.

Such was the nature of Stinny's that no one cared. Moments later, a broad-shouldered, slim-waisted man with a thick coat of black hair on his chest that covered up a decade of scars sat down beside her. "Was that fucking Alexandria?" Charles Scapetti said.

"Maybe. She wanted to offer me a commission in the army."

Scapetti snorted. "You're just a kid."

Taylor flicked a nearby olive at his head. "You were seventeen when you signed up."

"Yeah. I was just a snot-nosed kid. But you're a kid _now_."

She held up her glass. "I'm old enough to buy you a beer and burger."

"Yeah. Here, maybe."

Grinning, she leaned over and kissed the man who had twelve years on her. "I notice no one made you come."

Scapetti scoffed. "'Course not. Never turn down a free beer and burger. Never."

He reached up and wrapped her shoulder in a hug, kissed the top of her head, then waived for Stinny. "Corona and a burger, my man. And another round for the lady."

Stinny laughed. "On her?"

"'Course. She's the rich one. I'm just the boy toy."

Taylor flicked another olive at his face.

All things considered? Yeah, she was doing okay.

* * *

A/N: I will have one final review response and final thoughts in a few days. And yes, for those who asked, there will be a sequel to this story once I've done posting Theogony. It's hard to walk away from a Force-master Taylor as a character.


End file.
